


husband

by meng_ren



Category: Infinite (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Alternate Universe - Politics, Courtroom Drama, Infidelity, Legal Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 02:26:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 104,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7415932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meng_ren/pseuds/meng_ren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Woohyun needs to rebuild. After his politician husband, Sungyeol, is caught cheating with a prostitute, Woohyun is forced to resume a law career after a decade’s hiatus. Along the way, he meets old friends, encounters new enemies, and learns to stand up for himself and those closest to him.</p><p>[The Good Wife! AU]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Opening statements

**Author's Note:**

> I know that the story concept is absurd. Infinite as the cast of The Good Wife: Woohyun is Alicia, Sungyeol is Peter, Sunggyu is Will, and Howon is Eli. The rest of Infinite shows up in one way or another. I also know that I have two projects already outstanding, so I shouldn't be starting a new multi-chaptered fic, but the Korean remake of TGW is coming out extremely soon, so I wanted to get my idea out first.

“Nam-Lee residence speaking, who is this?” Woohyun asked, answering the phone as soon as it rang, one lazy summer Friday. His husband Sungyeol was upstairs in their spacious, Art Deco manor. Sunlight filtered lazily through open windows, as Woohyun sat in the lounge. Classical music, from some long-deceased European composer, played in the background, producing barely-audible tones. A photography album lay across Woohyun’s lap as he answered the phone. The book was a new collection from one of Sungyeol’s friends, and Woohyun planned to show Sungyeol later had the other man not dashed upstairs to the main bedroom as soon as he entered the house.

“It’s Prosecutor Song from the prosecutor’s office,” said the female voice on the other end of the line. “No time for chit-chat. The National Assembly approved the arrest motion. The police are coming to arrest your husband in thirty seconds. I’m letting you know because I owed your family a favor. Now we’re even.”

The voice must have hung up right after that, but Woohyun paid it no attention as he sat there, staring out the window at the two lazy willow trees just outside their backyard. He said nothing, saw nothing, and thought nothing in shock.

It was strange. For days, Woohyun had suspected this would happen. The press and media and Internet had all been expecting this. For weeks the police and prosecutors had been building a case up against Assemblyman Lee Sungyeol, political boy wonder, and Nam Woohyun’s husband. And once news of the arrest came, Woohyun felt all of his composure leave him. He froze.

When the doorbell rang less than a minute later, he could barely think as he heard the voices from the outside shout. “This is the police. We have a warrant to enter,” they demanded.

And then he said the only thing he said to Sungyeol that afternoon. He wasn’t even sure if Sungyeol ever heard him. 

“It’s for you.”

The next five minutes passed Woohyun by so quickly he barely remembered them at all. He didn’t even remember if he was the one who opened the door for the police, who pushed past him as they went straight for Sungyeol. He did not remember the officers handcuffing Sungyeol and jerking him from their master bedroom. He remembered only snippets of speech from Sungyeol, who had turned to him and shouted “Call Howon first. Call Myungsoo. And call _her_ if you need to. I’ll tell you more once I get out of custody.” And Woohyun remembered standing there in the lounge, unable to move, watching Sungyeol’s back as the police officers continued to push the man forward.

Sungyeol managed to stop in the lobby, turning back towards Woohyun, and Woohyun could finally look his husband in the eyes. Sungyeol opened his mouth to voice something, and Woohyun wanted to hear something reassuring. Something comforting. _Stay strong_ , or _It’ll be okay_ , or even something cheesy and inappropriate like _I love you_.

Sungyeol said “Call our lawyer.”

The police grabbed Sungyeol by both of his arms and led him away. So Woohyun stood there in the lounge, barely able to think, barely able to move.

Sunlight and music continued to stream into the house.

Woohyun hesitantly walked back to his seat in the lounge, looking at the photo album that Myungsoo had given them. He stared at the page he had left it at: an old college photo. Sungyeol and Woohyun in the center. Myungsoo on Sungyeol’s side, Howon on Myungsoo’s other side. And on Woohyun’s side were Sunggyu, and then Dongwoo leaning on Sunggyu’s side. It couldn’t have been Myungsoo who took the photo, but must have been Sungjong using Myungsoo’s camera. 

He closed the photo album on the page and picked up the phone.

—

Sungyeol’s arrest was of course a scandal. And it had been a scandal when he and Sungyeol had first married.

Nam Woohyun, son of a former president, had married a man! And not just any man, but Lee Sungyeol, a man born without as much as a cent to his name. At the time, same-sex marriage had been legalized for all of two weeks. 

But being married into political royalty had its benefits. It was no surprise when Lee Sungyeol managed to parlay his presidential son-in-law status into a National Assembly nomination to run in the Changdong district. 

Changdong City was a wealthy suburb, an hour’s drive south of the capital city. Its affluence and prosperity put it firmly in the hands of the conservative opposition. The political experts had scoffed that Sungyeol, son-in-law to a liberal former president from the liberal ruling party, could ever succeed in that election. Sungyeol was young then, just shy of thirty, and facing an old-timer who had served in the National Assembly for almost two decades.

The experts were also completely wrong. The conservative vote had been split due to the presence of independent candidates. Turnout was higher because the legislative election was held concurrently with a presidential election. Sungyeol campaigned fiercely as a moderate, heavily emphasizing his career as a prosecutor. He mentioned nothing about his marriage.

Sungyeol won. It was a close margin, with Sungyeol pulling in little more than half the vote, but it was a convincing victory.

It was even a bigger scandal today, two years later, when Sungyeol was arrested for having sex with a prostitute and paying her to keep their relationship secret.

Woohyun recovered quickly the moment his husband left, and did as Sungyeol had said. He called Sungyeol’s attorney, the high-profile but hard-working Attorney Seo, immediately after the police took Sungyeol away. Seo in turn immediately rushed to the police station to represent Sungyeol. Woohyun next called Howon, Sungyeol’s campaign manager, the second after Attorney Seo hung up. And after Howon promised to meet with Sungyeol’s staff to plan next steps, Woohyun left for party headquarters immediately, to demand answers. He still had connections, after all. He would need to play every card in his hand to save Sungyeol. But he couldn’t play _that_ card just yet.

—

“You shouldn’t be here,” huffed the first woman, staring at Woohyun through skeptical eyes. Woohyun knew her somewhat well. She was Representative Hong, from the party’s Supreme Council. “I had a meeting with constituents to attend. I didn’t have any notice you were here.”

“And you wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for my family,” snapped Woohyun back. “How could you just sit back and allow the Assembly to approve the arrest motion?”

“You need to be more respectful when speaking to your seniors,” said the second, older woman, visibly annoyed. “And as you probably know, we did your husband a favor by sitting back. The Party Chair wanted to order us to vote for the motion. We had to beg her to allow individual legislators to vote as they pleased.” It was Representative Yoo, the most senior member of the Supreme Council present.

“If I get the chance, I’ll bring up the issue with her too. I’d bring up the issue even if she is elected President. Now what are _you_ going to do to protect my husband?” Woohyun continued, rising up from his seat to stare at the trio across from him.

The last member, the party spokesman surnamed Sohn, gritted his teeth. “Officially the party is going to wait for the prosecution’s investigation to go through. If the charges look strong, your husband will be expelled from the party. If he’s convicted, he’ll be expelled from the Assembly.”

“Which triggers a by-election for Changdong district, which will go for sure to the opposition. Min Youngwoo held that seat for twenty years. She’ll win just by registering as a candidate. Your party’s majority is just two seats. If you lose Changdong, and then lose another by-election anywhere else, your majority will be gone. Don’t you realize, Supreme Council members?” Woohyun gave a fake, cloying smile towards Representatives Hong and Yoo. He made eye contact with Hong for a fraction of a second, and stared at Yoo for at least three seconds.

Hong blinked first, not expecting that Woohyun would be more intelligent than she credited. “Yes, and that’s why we begged the Party Chair not to press forward too hard. But you must know we can’t protect your husband forever. You know the contents of those tapes.”

Woohyun’s stomach turned, just for a second. He knew those tapes better than anybody in this room. He had listened to them so many times, hearing his husband’s voice saying words to a prostitute that should have been said only to him. He had cried when he first heard those tapes, and hearing their mention caused anger to rise inside him. When he thought about those tapes, he felt humiliation. But when others mentioned those tapes? Woohyun couldn’t stand that. The issues between Woohyun and Sungyeol were for just the two of them.

“I know what was on those tapes,” Woohyun said, trying to remain cool.

“Then you’ll know why the Party Chair wanted to kick Lee Sungyeol out,” said Hong, exasperated. “She’s the official leader of the party. Not even the President could push her around.”

“And the Supreme Council chose the Chair, did it not? The Supreme Council can vote her out. Look, there are enough votes: Representative Hong and Representative Yoo, you owe my family your careers. Representative Kim is a known rival to the Chair. If I can bring in Representatives Choi and Kwak, I would have five out of the nine members to stop the Chair,” Woohyun said, rapidly calculating the political possibilities in his head. He was partly bluffing. He had absolutely no leverage on Choi or Kwak to support his scheme, but he didn’t care. What he wanted was to gauge these politicians’ reactions.

“You can’t be serious,” gasped the party spokesman, Sohn. “This is the Party Chair we’re talking about.”

“You want to force out the Party Chair of the country’s ruling party, so that you can protect your husband, when your husband cheated on you with a prostitute and covered up his affair,” seethed Representative Yoo, staring at Woohyun with an angry look. “You are out of your mind. You are the husband of a first-term lawmaker. This is not your family’s party any longer. This is the chair’s party. You will be absolutely destroyed if you go forward with this attempt.”

“We will not destroy ourselves over your cheating husband,” said Representative Hong, raising her voice.

“But you still owe my husband more,” Woohyun said. “I’m not leaving here until you can tell me you can do something for my husband.”

“Or what?” Yoo said, putting her hand to her chin. “Are you going to destroy us, like you plan to destroy the Party Chair?”

“No,” Woohyun shook his head. “You’ve done so much for my family. I would ease you out instead. Do not count on getting the party nomination for the next election. Any of you.”

A silence fell over the three politicians, all of whom were staring at Woohyun with incredulous looks.

“You are absolutely the most arrogant, condescending, and unrealistic member of the extended Nam family I have ever met in my life,” said Yoo, eyes focused.

Hong gave a sigh. Woohyun relished the sound. Representative Hong was a member of the Supreme Council, but she had the least seniority of the nine. It was an opening for now and for the future.

“Is the prosecutor on your husband’s case still Park Soonhye?” Hong said, beginning to write down notes on a legal pad in front of her.

“She was the original prosecutor,” Woohyun said. “And she doesn’t like giving up her cases.”

“It won’t be up to her,” Hong said. “We could ask the Ministry of Justice to transfer the case to somebody more senior. At minimum, that prolongs the case, till some new scandal explodes. And a senior prosecutor might look at your husband more favorably.”

“But there’s no way we could pressure the prosecutors to drop the case. The tapes, you know,” Sohn interjected. “The evidence is too strong.”

“Your husband should have been booked after he was arrested. If he’s not allowed to go home after questioning, we could do some work to get him released. It is a possibility,” said Yoo.

“We can keep everything quiet and hope a larger scandal arises,” Hong said, and she grew conspiratorial in tone as she turned to address the other politicians. “Representative Yoo, I’m sure you can think of that piece of gossip we have on the opposition. We could release it.”

“Best we can guarantee is that we can delay the case and shield you from the media,” Yoo said. “If we can arrange a deal with the prosecutors, then your husband might get probation or a suspended sentence. Your husband won’t be expelled, and we avoid a risky by-election. But if your husband serves any jail time, we will not protect him. We would rather lose one by-election than take a drubbing at the polls.”

Woohyun nodded, again insincere in his smile. “Thank you, Supreme Council members and Party Spokesman. I hope I won’t need to come here again.”

Woohyun turned around to leave when Yoo spoke up again. “Nam Woohyun,” she said, and Woohyun stopped.

“Yes?”

“Your temperament is different from what I expected.”

“How so?”

“You are exactly like your parents.”

Woohyun smirked. But Yoo continued speaking before Woohyun could turn around again.

“You were a lawyer once. It would have been easy to follow in their footsteps. I think you could have been a prosecutor or even been elected to the National Assembly. Maybe you still have that chance.”

Woohyun blinked, gave a sad smile, and walked out.

—

Sungyeol was already back at the house when Woohyun arrived late during the evening. He was sitting on the sofa in the lounge. Woohyun had seen Howon leave the house just minutes earlier. Attorney Seo was standing in the lounge, stuffing papers into her briefcase. When she saw Woohyun arrive, she silently nodded and left the house.

It was just Woohyun and Sungyeol there. Sungyeol was seated and Woohyun was standing.

“The prosecutors released me early on the condition that I return early Monday morning for a long questioning,” Sungyeol said. “Were you worried about me?”

Woohyun paused, silent. What was he supposed to say? Of course he had been worried. He had been terrified that the man he loved, the man he swore to spend the rest of his life with, would be taken away from him. But at the same time, he wanted to be angry. Angry to see his husband wearing handcuffs. Angry that the country’s legislature had looked at evidence and concluded that Sungyeol should have been arrested. Surprising himself, Woohyun realized he was much less angry at Sungyeol than he thought he would be. Sungyeol’s affair seemed like a distant dream. Standing there in the lobby of their manor, Woohyun was angry at Sungyeol because he had to work so hard to protect the other man. This frustrating, helpless man who could not help himself.

“I destroyed any chance I ever had of obtaining public office so that I could get you home early from your interrogation today,” Woohyun said. His words were as cold as he could muster, like ice that was so cold it burned.

“Woohyun, I—”

“Don’t say anything, Sungyeol. I’m tired,” said Woohyun, heading up the stairs. 

“Listen, about that girl, I still have more to tell you—”

“I said. Don’t. Say.”

“Then why’d you protect me?”

“Because I don’t ever want to see you arrested again,” Woohyun said. 

Sungyeol attempted to respond, to walk over to console the other man, but Woohyun shook his head wordlessly and ascended the stairs.

Woohyun slept in the main bedroom that night while Sungyeol slept on the living room’s sofa.

It was a quiet night. Sungyeol had turned off the music.

—

If it had been a normal Saturday, Woohyun could have expected to wake up early in the morning, cook Sungyeol some breakfast, and the two of them would have an amiable chat. Sungyeol would have gone to work at the National Assembly building. From there, Woohyun would have spent his time exercising at the local gym and then recording music at their home studio. By the afternoon, he would have settled down on the sofa, curling up with a good book and a glass of wine.

It was not a normal Saturday, and even when Woohyun awoke early in the morning, he already heard a small contingent of family and staff in the living room. He had just begun descending the staircase when Howon intercepted him. The taller man managed to stop in front of Woohyun, looking at the shorter man apologetically.

“There’s someone there you probably didn’t expect to see,” Howon started. “I would have told you earlier if I could.”

Woohyun was slightly puzzled. “Somebody there?”

“I had to make the call,” Howon said. “I wouldn’t have done it if Sungyeol said nothing, but he asked.”

“What in the world are you talking about?” Woohyun responded, puzzled. He had dressed very quickly, and could tell that Howon was wearing the same clothes from the last time Woohyun had last seen him. Had Howon not changed?

“The former President.”

Woohyun could feel a frown rise on his face, but he didn’t particularly care what his expression looked like.

“Why?”

“Sungyeol thought that—”

“I can guess why he thought that.”

“Then you should understand it was a good thing to do.”

“You should have raised with me.”

“There wasn’t enough time. It’s already six in the morning and we’re dealing with too much to handle. We have a press conference in four hours, we have documents to file in court, and we have a trial to prepare. I’ve been calling everybody in Sungyeol’s contact list, and I had no time to ask you for your permission.”

“And Sungyeol told you, the words from his very mouth, that you should call the President?”

Howon hedged, averting his eyes, and Woohyun gave an annoyed glare.

“Look at me when I’m speaking, Lee Howon.”

It pained Woohyun somewhat to say something that harshly. He had known Howon almost as long as he knew Sungyeol. Howon had taken a different trajectory: after university, Howon had worked as a campaign staffer for two different conservative politicians. It had only been four or five years ago that Howon revived his connections with Sungyeol. But the other man had fast become one of Sungyeol’s close supporters. Woohyun would normally have hesitated before challenging a man who had won Sungyeol’s trust. But Sungyeol’s trust didn’t mean nearly as much as it had two months ago, before the scandal broke.

Howon looked into Sungyeol’s eyes. “He asked me if we should make the call. I said yes. So he told me to call.”

Woohyun sighed. It was over, he guessed, and he might as well deal with it.

He walked through the double doors into the living room and greeted the former President.

“Hello, Mother.”

—

Lee Soonho may have been the former President, but everybody called her “the President” or “President Lee.” Everybody, that is, except for her dear family members. Even Sungyeol treated her with the utmost respect. Especially Sungyeol. 

The President, who was in her mid-60s but looked as if she was at most in her 40s, was seated at the armchair. Sungyeol sat on the chair’s armrest to her left, and the two of them had been engrossed in some conversation. The President briefly looked up at Woohyun, saying “Come here, the call’s about to start,” in response to Woohyun’s greeting. Woohyun walked forward, gently nudging one of Sungyeol’s interns out of the way.

“Prosecutor Song?” The President asked, and Woohyun realized the President was talking on the phone in a conference call.

“President Lee!” The voice came from the other end, pleasantly surprised. It was the woman’s voice that Woohyun had heard yesterday. “You must be calling about your son-in-law’s case.”

“Prosecutor Song,” President Lee said, “you know me too well. How are my friends treating you over at the Ministry?”

“Absolutely fine,” said the voice from the telephone. “Prosecutor-General Na yesterday told me—should I even start? Well, I can’t start. I know better than to discuss personal business if somebody overhears.”

“I understand, Prosecutor Song. Give me a minute.” The President hit the mute button on the telephone set before turning to talk to the rest of the room. “You heard her. Everybody out while I take this call.”

Sungyeol gave a surprised look. “Even me, President Lee?”

Woohyun’s mother gave him a gently disapproving look. “Especially you, Sungyeol.” She turned towards the critical figures in the room, namely Howon and Sungyeol’s attorney, Attorney Seo, before nodding her head. “All of you out, except Woohyun.”

Woohyun gave a slightly startled look. “You want me to listen?”

Woohyun’s mother gave another gently disapproving look. “I do.”

Sungyeol got to his feet instantly. “You heard the President. Everybody out,” he said, and began ushering everybody out of the room. As he exited the living room, he closed the double doors behind him. At no point did he make eye contact with Woohyun.

Lee Soonho hit the mute button again. “Everybody is out, except for Woohyun.”

“Your son, Woohyun.”

“Yes, it’s just me and Woohyun here. Can you talk now?”

The voice on the other line paused for a second before answering. “I won’t go into anything official about your son-in-law’s case.”

“Absolutely,” answered Lee Soonho. “Just your impressions and opinions will be fine. Now, knowing you are avoiding a conflict of interest, is there anything you can tell me about my son-in-law’s case I don’t already know?”

“You know it’s Park Soonhye’s case?”

“Yes. And you’ve told us she’s very stubborn and sticks with her cases.”

“Prosecutor Park is tough in her work and unswerving in the courtroom. I hear she’s like bamboo: Utterly straight, not crooked in any way.”

“Is that true, or just what you’ve heard?”

“Does it matter? Even bamboo will bend, even if it doesn’t break.”

“And what does that mean, exactly?”

“I think she’s bending right now.”

“To whom? The Prosecutor-General? The Minister of Justice?”

“Ah, President Lee, I don’t know how to tell you. I think this goes higher than that.”

“The President!?” Woohyun interjected, in shock. It was the first he spoke in this conversation.

“I can’t say for certain. But why else would a relatively junior prosecutor like Prosecutor Park in the Vice Division be given the assignment of prosecuting a sitting member of the National Assembly? Assemblyman Lee was charged with having sex with a prostitute and concealing that relationship. The case has gone up before the National Assembly. It remains astounding to me that Park retains control over the case. Normally, high-level prosecutions are handled solely by the Anti-Corruption Division. The Prosecutor-General must be making a conscious decision not to follow the standard procedure,” explained the voice on the other end.

“I talked to the Supreme Council yesterday—” Woohyun interjected.

“Which Supreme Council?” Blurted the other voice.

“The ruling party, of course,” Woohyun said with a scoff. Did this woman honestly think he would talk to the conservative opposition party?

“And what did they say?”

“They said they could try to transfer the case.”

“Not to Anti-Corruption. Normally, the Prosecutor-General would transfer the case to Anti-Corruption immediately. The fact that she hasn’t can mean only one thing: she wants Park to retain the case. At best the case moves up the ladder inside the Vice Division. I can’t remember who is the head of Vice. I don’t think it matters.”

“You’re saying that even if the Supreme Council members put pressure on the prosecutor, Sungyeol’s case will stay with Park? Or stay with the Vice Division?” Woohyun kept asking, doggedly trying to elicit responses.

“I don’t think it matters either way. The procedure in this case is too unusual. Like I said before, I think somebody higher than the Prosecutor-General is putting pressure on the prosecutor’s office. It might be the Minister of Justice. It might be the President.”

“Could it be the Party Chair?” Woohyun asked again.

The other voice paused for half a minute before answering. “I don’t think so. The turnover in our office is slow. It has only been two years since the Party Chair’s appointment. Very few of the prosecutors in our office were appointed due to the Party Chair’s connections.”

Woohyun exhaled loudly and sank into the other armchair.

“So I’m nowhere closer than where I started to finding out who is responsible for this mess.”

“I don’t think I can tell you any more. Assemblyman Lee is being prosecuted by a tough prosecutor who is supported by a patron with substantial political connections.”

“There is one more thing I have to ask,” the President asked. 

“Yes, President Lee?”

“How are you doing, Prosecutor Song? I feel like we’ve been burdening you with all of these political questions, and nobody bothered asking about you.”

The voice on the other end laughed. “I’m doing wonderful. We should have lunch sometime soon. After this scandal has blown over.”

The President laughed. “Wonderful idea,” she said with a smile, and ended the call.

Woohyun sat, turning to look at his mother with a hint of annoyance.

“I could have made the call on my own,” he said.

“She probably wouldn’t have taken your call,” Lee Soonho said with a shrug.

“And what happens next?” Woohyun said, as he stood up to allow the others back into the room.

“Keep the doors closed,” Lee Soonho commanded, and Woohyun obliged.

“I was thinking, due to the circumstances, that you should resume your old law job,” she said.

Woohyun froze, as his mother continued talking.

“Woohyun, your father and I have talked about this issue. We don’t know how this case will go, or what new evidence the prosecutors might turn up. You need to think about yourself. You are barely 32. Do you really want to be the disgraced husband of a disgraced legislator? You should think about your own career,” she said, calmly.

Woohyun turned around in a rage. “If you’re asking me to leave him, I won’t.”

“I didn’t say that. But think hard, Woohyun. You don’t want to be arranging the deck chairs on the Titanic. I heard about your little outburst at the Supreme Council. The Supreme Council members took you far more seriously than they should have.”

“I wanted them to take my husband seriously,” Woohyun said.

“And they did. Or at least, they took you seriously. And I take your husband seriously, but I won’t let him hurt the career of one of my sons. Assemblywoman Yoo was right. You could have been a prosecutor. And you could be an Assemblyman. You are young enough to make it happen, if you return to your law job.”

Woohyun paused again. If it was on a normal day, he’d still be cooking Sungyeol breakfast. He thought he didn’t mind: he had cooked Sungyeol breakfast everyday for ten years. 

But he had been a lawyer once. And it would be easier to resume his career now, when he was still familiar enough with the legal material.

“Would I be putting an ad on the Internet?” Woohyun asked in jest. “Unemployed former house husband seeks lawyer job. Last practiced law ten years ago.”

“I could arrange something.”

“Do you have something in mind?”

“No, not yet.”

Another pause, this time mutual.

“I’m not financially dependent on Sungyeol, mother. I’m already financially secure thanks to the family’s trust fund.”

Lee Soonho sighed. “I’m not going to separate you from Sungyeol. I know you love him. You’ll be the one deciding to leave him or not.”

“With that understanding, if you can find me something,” Woohyun said hesitantly.

“Of course I can find you something,” scoffed the President.

Woohyun nodded.

Ten years of cooking breakfast, plus two days of saving Sungyeol.

He opened the doors of the living room.

—

Howon was apologetic as Woohyun exited.

“It wasn’t a major issue, was it? Calling your mother?” He asked, following Woohyun while Sungyeol kept talking to Attorney Seo.

“My mother is her own woman. Talk to her at your own desire,” Woohyun said as he entered the kitchen. He set a pot of water on the induction stove and began rummaging through the cabinets.

“Wait, what are you doing, Woohyun?”

“Making breakfast. It’s what I do every day,” Woohyun replied.

“Woohyun, there’s a press conference in a few hours. Sungyeol is going before the press, and he needs you there besides him,” Howon said, seemingly exasperated.

“He’s going to need your help. You’re his campaign manager. Do you have a speech for him?”

“I wrote it in one night,” Howon said. He pointed to bags under his eyes. “I know you can tell.”

Woohyun nodded. “Sungyeol will also need breakfast.”

“You need to be next to Sungyeol. You’ll need makeup and a wardrobe change. It’s at least an hour’s drive to the National Assembly building for the press conference. You need get ready right now, this second.”

Woohyun gave a noncommittal hum as he began cooking noodles, before he turned to speak. “Howon, do you remember why you became a campaign manager?”

Howon gave a puzzled look. “We’re talking about you and your husband here.”

“It’s because,” Woohyun continued, ignoring Howon, “you failed law school. Whereas Sungyeol and I did not.”

Howon gave a shocked look. “What does that have to do with any of this?”

“It has to do with you,” Woohyun said, turning towards Howon coldly, “because I need to remind you that Sungyeol and I are the lawyers, and you are the campaign manager. You work for Sungyeol. You do not command him, and you do not order me around.”

Howon’s jaw had visibly dropped as he stared at Woohyun. “Woohyun, I apologize if I’ve done you anything wrong or offended you. I’m just doing what I think is best for Sungyeol.”

Woohyun gave a sideways glance at Howon, before he turned back around to his cooking. “As do I. And right now, I think breakfast is best for him. You can give me a hand or you can help him with his speech.”

Howon gave a nervous nod. “It already smells delicious.”

—

After a breakfast in stony silence together, punctuated occasionally by the President dropping by, Sungyeol and Woohyun finally had a chance to speak. They were leaving the Nam-Lee house in separate cars when Sungyeol managed to pause and look Woohyun in the eye.

Sungyeol gave a weak smile. “Are you holding up well, Woohyun?”

Woohyun smiled back for just a brief moment. How could he resist that smile? Even as he shook his head, he couldn’t help smiling to himself, just slightly.

“It’s been terrible,” Woohyun said, before resuming his composed demeanor. He wanted to show concern, but not love. “I saw you arrested. How can I ever be well again?”

“You will be. We’ll get through this. Somehow,” Sungyeol said, anxiety creeping up again. Woohyun had seen that look at least once before: when Sungyeol had proposed. That felt like ages ago.

Woohyun wanted, just slightly, to say _Together?_ But he didn’t, and he shook his head again as he entered his car. He left for the press conference first, and Sungyeol followed close behind.

He didn’t forgive Sungyeol yet. Sungyeol had said many things to that prostitute that Woohyun had heard before. He knew that Sungyeol had probably said We’ll get through this to her as well. But he wondered, upon just seeing Sungyeol’s smile, whether reconciliation would be so difficult.


	2. Alienation of affection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because this story is based off of the original American version of The Good Wife and not the Korean remake, the legal system in this story will be heavily based on the American legal system. No knowledge of the American legal system should be necessary to understand this story.

Woohyun tried his best to breath calmly, inhaling and exhaling with deliberation even as the cameras flashed lights all around him. Sungyeol was to to his left, addressing all of the reporters and media personalities who had gathered in front of them for the press conference. Behind them was the curtain of the conference room, and to the side was the hallway leading to the legislators’ offices.

Sungyeol took a breath, and addressed the group.

“Good morning. Today, I am here to address the recent scandal that has taken place around me. Two months ago, the media first began reporting on allegations that I was unfaithful to my husband. Those rumors were correct, I wholly admit that I have not been faithful to the man I love, and for which, I must humbly atone. In doing so, I betrayed the trust between my husband.

“This act of infidelity was wholly a private affair, and the prosecutors have grossly distorted the facts by arresting me for criminal conduct. I vehemently deny the criminal charges alleging that I abused my office, concealed evidence, and misled the investigation. These charges are wholly spurious, and I intend to vindicate my name and reputation through court proceedings. I will not resign, because I have not committed any criminal conduct.

“I understand that I will never completely separate my public and private lives. But I also know that in disappointing my husband and my family, I have also disappointed those who had looked up at me. This includes my colleagues in the National Assembly, my constituents in Changdong District, and my fellow citizens. Just as I hope to restore the trust that my husband held in me, I hope to rebuild my relationship with all those who put their trust in me.

“I will continue to press forward in two ways: I hope to make amends to my husband, and I will fight these criminal charges until I am fully acquitted. And I can do that only by taking full responsibility for my past infidelity, and by apologizing to all those who were wronged by my deeds and actions.”

Woohyun watched. Sungyeol was reading from a paper, not looking up at all, gripping the sides of the paper so hard Woohyun thought the paper would tear. _Such a minor issue,_ Woohyun thought, _that he would pay more attention to a piece of paper than to his husband’s own words._ But he didn’t want to listen to his husband’s words, and instead thought about how much more frustrating it would be if that paper ripped in the middle of Sungyeol’s speech. 

And then it was over. 

Sungyeol folded up the paper and put it in the inner pocket of his coat, and walked towards Woohyun, whose eyes quickly darted up. But before Woohyun could say anything or react any other way, Sungyeol put his hand on Woohyun’s back and gently lead the other man away. Away from the crowds, with their cameras and lights. And then they were away, walking, until they were in Sungyeol’s private office.

“Are you okay? There were a lot of people outside.” Sungyeol asked. They were alone: all of the staff, including attorneys and campaign personnel, were outside, waiting for them to finish before entering the office. He looked at Woohyun, hesitantly raising his hand, as if to touch Woohyun’s cheek.

Woohyun raised his hand to grab Sungyeol’s, gently putting the other man’s hand down.

“I’m hurt,” Woohyun said, voice edging on cracking.

“I know,” Sungyeol said, and his voice remained as flat as it had been during the press conference. As if all of the scandal was unreal. Something that only happened to other couples. Woohyun waited for Sungyeol to say more. But he didn’t, so Woohyun just stood there, looking at Sungyeol while holding Sungyeol’s hands. The two of them paused, uncertain about what to say or do. After all, this had never happened to them before.

It was Sungyeol who broke the minute’s silence. “You’re not leaving me, are you?”

“No, I’m not,” Woohyun said. But he purposely refrained from shaking his head or emphasizing it any other way. 

“Then where do we go from here?” Sungyeol said, and he chewed on the bottom of his lip like a much younger man. Like the man Woohyun had fallen in love with.

“You were being honest, weren’t you? You said you never did anything criminal.” Woohyun said, still looking at Sungyeol’s eyes.

“I didn’t, Woohyun,” Sungyeol said, pleadingly. “The only thing I did was betray your trust, and our vows. I’m not a criminal. I’m just unfaithful.”

Woohyun sucked in a breath. “Then we fight these charges,” he responded, and he ceased to be Nam Woohyun, passive husband of the accused, and became Nam Woohyun, furious defender of the man he loved. “Attorney Seo is not leaving our side, and so is Howon. We’ll set them up an office and a room in our own house if they need it. We’ll go to court, and we’ll deny everything, and we need to win.”

Sungyeol smiled. “We?”

Woohyun only looked at Sungyeol. “I don’t know if I forgive you. I know I can forgive you. I also feel I can stay with you even if I don’t forgive you, at least for a little bit. But things will never be as close as they did before, and even if we try to put the pieces back together, the pieces might never fit right. But even if everything falls apart, I don’t want to see you hurt. Even if I leave, I would never wish you harm.”

He was on the verge of tears: he poured out his soul into that statement, staring at Sungyeol’s eyes, but the other man blinked and looked away.

“I never loved her, Woohyun. You should know that,” Sungyeol said. He would have continued, but Woohyun put his hand on Sungyeol’s cheek.

“You can say her name.” Woohyun said steadily.

Sungyeol would have laughed, almost. He didn’t even remember her name in that second.

“It was empty. It wasn’t a relationship. It was—” and Sungyeol paused. “Just sex. I was with her over a dozen times, but she meant nothing to me. Those words that I said were nothing more than words. ”

Woohyun gave a wordless hum. “Is there more you should be telling me?”

Sungyeol briefly looked at the ground, and Woohyun’s hand slipped away. “Ask anything.”

Woohyun gave that hum again, giving himself time to pause and think. “No, I don’t think I will.”

—

The rest of that Saturday flew by. Attorney Seo brought in a second attorney whom she promised was excellent.

“This is Attorney Seong,” she explained, ushering in another woman into Sungyeol’s legislative office. Woohyun remained present. “And that makes the four of us. Assemblyman Lee, are you sure you want your husband here? You are our client, not him.”

Sungyeol was adamant. “Woohyun here scored higher than me in every class we took together at law school.”

Attorney Seo gave a laugh that radiated maternal warmth, at least to Woohyun. She was only a few years younger than Woohyun’s mother.

“And if you saw my grades in law school, you’d think I would only be fit for defending misdemeanors,” she laughed. “There are grades, and then there are skills. These are not mutually inclusive categories.”

Sungyeol nodded. “Just continue, please.”

Attorney Seo started, talking to Sungyeol. “We would have the hardest time convincing a jury that you didn’t buy sex. We would need to argue that this prostitute was being, if you can believe it, your girlfriend. We could say that money changed hands because they were gifts. Or we could argue the evidence is insufficient to establish a relationship because she’s an unreliable witness. Either way, we’ll likely lose. From there, it would also be a difficult time defending against the concealment charges. The schedule of payments does look suspicious, like you were paying her to conceal a relationship. But the prosecution will need to show you paid her money for the purpose of concealing a relationship. Anything else will be legal.”

Attorney Seong, who was about Sungyeol’s age, continued where the other attorney left off. “And the charges that you used public or campaign money are completely false. We’ve looked at the evidence they’ve presented, and we think we’ll defend you against them completely. And they can’t even state what evidence you’ve concealed!”

Attorney Seo resumed speaking. “Paying for sex is a misdemeanor. The punishment is at most six months, and it will likely be a suspended sentence. This concealment charge is what we should really be looking at: it’s two years in jail. A suspended sentence would still be enough to force you to resign.”

“But we can win, for sure,” Sungyeol asked again.

Attorney Seo nodded. “Reasonable doubt. If infidelity was a crime you’d need to look for a plea deal. But it’s not. We can still argue reasonable doubt as to whether or not you fit the legal requirements of a crime.”

Sungyeol exhaled, finally calm again, and Woohyun watched as the other man closed his eyes and let them rest there.

Attorney Seo addressed the two. “You both should rest. Assemblyman Lee, you’ll be questioned on Monday and probably formally arraigned later that day. Mr. Nam, I know this is tiring for you too. Let Attorney Seong and I take over your case. Please, rest for today and tomorrow.”

Woohyun stood up first. “Sungyeol, let’s go home.”

The other man gave a startled look. “Woohyun, are you sure?”

Woohyun nodded. “We should be at home. I don’t want you to spend the night here, in this building.”

Sungyeol burst into a smile, but Woohyun did not.

The two of them took the same car home this time, though they had a driver. The two of them sat in the backseat, neither of them talking. Sungyeol made an attempt to lace his fingers with Woohyun, but Woohyun kept his fingers outstretched, and turned away from Sungyeol.  
When they reached home, Sungyeol and Woohyun changed and showered in different rooms. Woohyun remained in the master bedroom while Sungyeol used one of the downstairs bathrooms.

Dinner was takeout: Woohyun did not feel like cooking, and Sungyeol did not press him on the issue. They attempted to watch a movie on their couch, some foreign science-fiction film, but Woohyun soon grew listless and tired. He made it a point to sit on the opposite end from Sungyeol. The other man was far more entertained by the movie than he was. So the two of them sat there for most of the night: Sungyeol managing to focus on the movie, and Woohyun gazing at Sungyeol.

Woohyun felt it was as good of a time as any to tell Sungyeol the news.

“I’m thinking of going back to work,” Woohyun announced to Sungyeol, while leaving the words out in the open as if they could have been addressed to somebody else. Presumably, Woohyun suspected without being sure, his mother had not bugged their manor when she had visited yesterday.

“Work? As a lawyer?” Sungyeol said, rapt with attention instantly. He turned off the television to turn and face Woohyun, putting one leg on the sofa.

“It’s either that, or start working on a memoir,” Woohyun said, and he could feel a smirk temporarily rising.

Sungyeol looked temporarily crestfallen, as if he did not realize Woohyun was making a joke. “That’s great,” he said, puzzled. “When do you plan to start? And where? Do you have a place?”

Woohyun shook his head. “No, not yet. But I’ll find a place. It won’t be hard. Probably something in Changdong. But also maybe in the capital city. I want to get started before I become useless.”

“You’re not useless,” Sungyeol said, as if defending himself. “You’ll never be useless. What are you planning to do?”

“I’ll start working for a firm. The prosecutors wouldn’t even take me if I wanted to join,” Woohyun said, and this time he gave a real laugh. “I’ll be working for a civil firm. And I’ll choose litigation.”

“You’ll do great,” Sungyeol said. “You’re so smart.”

Woohyun blushed briefly at the praise. “I don’t know how I’ll do.”

Sungyeol laughed, briefly, before saying “I know you’ll do great. I want to see you do well.”

Woohyun smiled too, also briefly, before rising from the couch and heading to the master bedroom. Sungyeol made half a motion to rise up, but Woohyun shot him a warning glare. _Not yet,_ Woohyun said wordlessly, and Sungyeol accepted the cue.

Woohyun wondered, as he sat in bed that night, if he had gone through a similar phase before with Sungyeol. Realization dawned on him: the situation was almost the same as when he had first moved in with Sungyeol. When they were in their on-and-off phase when they didn’t know what their relationship was. They had hooked up, repeatedly, during the school year, but never committed to each other, and then during one moment of pique, they chose to move in together. They entered the “off phase” of their relationship shortly after they moved in together and lived as roommates for a year, but moved into the “on phase” soon afterwards.

If they had to regress in their relationship, Woohyun thought, he imagined it couldn’t get any worse than merely “off-again” roommates.

—

It got worse. Not on Sunday, but on Monday.

Sunday was much like Saturday, surprisingly: Woohyun cooked breakfast. Sungyeol ate. Sungyeol then left for meetings with leaders from the ruling party, and then met with Howon for the rest of the day.

Sungyeol continued to sleep on the couch that night, while Woohyun slept in the master bedroom.

On Monday, Sungyeol went to the police station, accompanied by his attorneys. Attorney Seo was vehement: Woohyun would not be present for the interrogation. Woohyun was anxious that the police would interrogate Sungyeol for hours on end.

Surprisingly, just it was still mid-morning, Woohyun received a call from Attorney Seo that Sungyeol would be formally arraigned that afternoon. She was certain that Sungyeol would not be put under formal detention, and would be released after arraignment. She would also demand a preliminary hearing to determine the truth of the allegations. Sungyeol also suggested that his friends join him at the arraignment hearing in a show of support. Woohyun managed to call up Myungsoo and Sungjong in time.

Just in case Sungyeol wasn’t released from custody, Sungyeol and Woohyun shared one more meal, at Sungyeol’s legislative office, before the two of them entered the capital city courthouse for arraignment.

On a normal day, arraignments would have been handled in Department 2. But the media pressure around Sungyeol’s case was too great. The arraignment was assigned to Department 3. Seated at the prosecution table was a short woman of average build who looked only slightly older than Woohyun. Woohyun knew as he entered the courtroom that she was Park Soonhye, the prosecutor on Sungyeol’s case. She did not even turn towards Sungyeol or Woohyun.

Sungyeol was accompanied by Attorney Seo as he sat at the defendant’s table, nervously waiting for the judge to appear. And at precisely 1:30 PM, the judge finally entered. She was a tall woman, also of average build, and middle-aged.

The clerk called out: “All rise. Department 3 is now in session. The Honorable Judge Kwak Soochan is now presiding.”

Woohyun, with Myungsoo on his left and Sungjong on his right stood up, as did the rest of the people in the courtroom rose. There were no cameras in the chamber present, but a throng of reporters scribbling notes filled almost every seat in the chamber.

“Case number CQ-0078-20, Prosecutor-General versus Lee Sungyeol.”

“Good morning, Your Honor. Seo Hyunkyung, on behalf of Lee Sungyeol, who is present,” said Attorney Seo, who stood up while she addressed the judge.

“Good morning, Your Honor. Park Soonhye, on behalf of the Prosecutor-General,” said Prosecutor Park, who likewise stood up before sitting down.

“Good afternoon, everybody,” said Judge Kwak, who did not look up. “May the clerk of the court please read the charges.”

The clerk stood up to read: “The Prosecutor-General charges the defendant, Lee Sungyeol, with the following four counts: One felony count of obstruction of justice. One felony count of concealment of a crime. One felony count of official misconduct. One misdemeanor count of solicitation.”

“How does the defendant plead to charge one?” The judge asked.

“Not guilty,” Attorney Seo stated.

“Charge two?”

“Not guilty.”

“Charge three?”

“Not guilty.”

“Charge four?”

“Not guilty.”

“The defendant was already given the preliminary indictment and prosecution exhibits. Does the defendant desire a full reading of each count of the current indictment?” The judge asked.

“No, he does not,” Attorney Seo replied.

“Does the prosecution seek to take the defendant into formal custody?” Judge Kwak continued.

“No, but we ask that the defendant post bail, surrender his passport, and be confined to house arrest.” Prosecutor Park asked.

“Lee Sungyeol will willingly surrender his passport, but he is a sitting member of the National Assembly who cannot fulfill his duties while confined to his house. Bail is also unnecessary for a first-time offender,” Attorney Seo replied.

“The defendant is wealthy, both independently and jointly with his husband,” replied Park.

“His husband is not on trial,” Judge Kwak answered. “Defendant will surrender his passport and is prohibited from leaving the country. He will be free in all other respects. Now, do the parties have a date in mind for trial?”

“I was thinking August,” started Attorney Seo, before she was interrupted.

“That’s in one month. One month is extremely short for either side,” stated Prosecutor Park.

“I wasn’t finished. Of next year,” Seo finished.

The judge looked at the prosecution. “And your suggestion is?”

“Four months. We’ll be ready by October,” said Park.

“We won’t be,” Seo objected.

The judge glanced at Sungyeol, who was seated without emotion, and then at the two attorneys.

“I don’t have a year. Attorney Seo, I know you can work quickly. Trial is scheduled in six months’ time,” the judge stated, authoritatively. “And this is an unusual procedural move, but I understand that the defendant seeks a preliminary hearing, right now, to determine the strength of the allegations. I would customarily grant a preliminary hearing following the arraignment, but I understand that the prosecution does not object.”

“No, Your Honor. We have Miss Kim, the alleged prostitute, available to testify right now,” the prosecutor stated, with a crocodile’s smile. Woohyun shuddered. 

“Then why not?” The judge replied. “I can see the media in the back. If both sides want to fight in court from day one, who am I to interfere? The prosecution can call its preliminary witness.”

“Thank you, Your Honor, said Prosecutor Park. “The prosecution calls Miss Kim to the stand.”

Woohyun watched, warily. Arraignments usually didn’t feature any testimony or evidence. This was a strange move, both for the prosecution and also for the defense.

The prostitute emerged from the room by the witness box, and Woohyun felt his teeth clench in anger as he watched her. _Her._ The woman that Sungyeol found so enrapturing that he was willing to ruin his marriage over her. She was, Woohyun had to admit, very attractive. She was not particularly tall, but she was slim with neck-length hair. She was dressed modestly, and her makeup was modest, almost insufficient.

The clerk swore her in, and Miss Kim took a seat at the witness box.

“Your Honor, the prosecution asks that for privacy reasons, the witness’s full name should not be disclosed,” Park asked.

“The defense objects to the prosecutor’s request. Lee Sungyeol should be able to hear the name of his accuser in open court,” Seo responded.

“The witness is not accusing Sungyeol of anything,” the judge answered. “The objection is overruled. The witness’s name will not be disclosed, yet.”

Park Soonhye smiled again, and Woohyun had a strong feeling that something was wrong. The prosecutor was far too comfortable, even though the defense request should have taken her by surprise.

“Miss Kim, can you tell us your occupation?” The prosecutor asked.

The woman glanced down at her lap. “I work in the adult services industry.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“I’m a prostitute.”

Woohyun felt himself calm down, surprising himself. A whore, he thought to himself, with much less animus than he expected.

“Do you work by yourself or as part of a larger organization?”

“A larger organization. High Rollers VIP.”

“How is your workplace like?”

“High Rollers has about two dozen employees. We exchange sex for money. Clients will come, seeking a certain person, and the agency fulfills their request.”

“Could you describe the clientele a bit more?”

“They’re all men.”

“And how long have you worked there?”

“Four years.”

“How old are you now?”

“26.”

“And how many clients have you serviced, in total?”

“About twenty.”

“And what was your pay?”

“Two thousand dollars per hour, on average.”

Woohyun rapidly tried to calculate the math. Two thousand per hour. Woohyun couldn’t have been spending much more than three hours per time. Two was more reasonable. And he was with her over a dozen times. It was unlikely to be more than 60,000 dollars, but that was still a considerable sum. Woohyun took a breath to calm himself down. Sungyeol made money. It wasn’t just the Nam family’s money that they shared.

“And how many clients did you have, on average, per year?”

“Six.”

“How much do you estimate your yearly income was from High Rollers VIP?”

“About 180,000 per year.”

“And are any of your clients in the courtroom today?”

“Yes, one of them is sitting at the table on the left, the man in the grey suit.” Sungyeol was the only man at that table.

The prosecutor turned from the witness to the defense table and then to the media. “Let the record show that the witness has identified Lee Sungyeol, the defendant. Now, did you have sexual intercourse with the defendant?”

“Yes.”

“How often?”

“It was a total of eighteen times.”

Woohyun flushed. Eighteen was a bit more than a dozen. He never asked Sungyeol the specific number, and now knew why.

“Over how many years?”

“Two years.”

“And how much did the defendant pay you in total?”

“Objection, Your Honor. The question calls for speculation,” Seo said, standing up.

“Overruled. The witness can answer the question,” the judge answered, but said to the witness, “but if you don’t know the exact sum, tell us that you’re estimating."

“I don’t have an exact sum, but I estimate about 80,000 dollars at most,” Miss Kim stated.

“And where did you have sex with the defendant?” Asked the prosecutor again.

“I went to the hotels he requested for almost all of the times. In a few cases, we were at the agency’s office. The agency provides its own private rooms for extra discretion.”

Woohyun scoffed. Discretion? Then how did this case ever get blown out into the open, revealing all of Sungyeol’s dirty secrets and humiliating Woohyun?

“Did the defendant ever mention to you that he was a member of the National Assembly?”

“Objection, leading,” Seo stated.

“Sustained. The witness will not answer the question,” commanded the judge. “Rephrase, Prosecutor Park.”

“Did the defendant ever state his occupation?”

“Yes, he said one time that he was a member of the National Assembly.”

“Objection, hearsay,” Seo responded.

“It’s not for evidentiary purposes,” Park responded.

“Objection overruled,” the judge stated.

“How did the defendant pay you?”

“I don’t know. The agency takes cash, check, or money order. He paid the agency, and I received my cut after the agency deducted its fees.”

“Prosecution Exhibit 1, which we’ve already presented to the defense,” Park stated, producing a set of papers with a flourish. “Listing all of the transactions between High Rollers VIP and Miss Kim. Now, did the defendant ever say anything to suggest this relationship was private?”

“He stated, ‘This is our secret,’ once.” Miss Kim said.

“Objection, hearsay,” Seo said again.

“Objection sustained,” said the judge. “You’ll need to rephrase that question.”

“We’re done, Your Honor. I submit that the prosecution has shown sufficient evidence from this witness’s testimony and our other exhibits that the charges are supported by evidence,” Park said. She turned to head to her table with a smile, and Woohyun suddenly felt terrified at that smile. “Unless the defense has any questions.”

Attorney Seo, however, took no notice, and she walked forward to the witness stand.

“Miss Kim,” Attorney Seo said, with a saccharine smile of her own. “Are you aware that prostitution is a crime?”

“Yes,” the other woman responded.

“And have you received any sort of agreement with the prosecution to testify?”

“No.”

“But the prosecution is not bringing charges against you?”

“Not that I know about.”

“And can you guess why?”

“The prosecution objects,” Park responded. “Speculation.”

“Sustained,” answered the judge.

“And the prosecution has asked you that your name not be disclosed in court.”

“Objection again, Your Honor. That happened in court five minutes ago,” said Park.

“Overruled,” responded the judge. “Witness may answer.”

“Yes, the prosecution asked that five minutes ago,” Miss Kim stated.

“Now, turning to High Rollers VIP. The agency was shut down, correct?”

“Yes.”

“So what do you do now?”

“I’m not working. I am dating a wealthy man who supports me.”

Woohyun felt somewhat ameliorated. This testimony did make the witness look unreliable. And Woohyun knew that was justified. Greedy whore, he thought bitterly.

“Turning to your honesty. You said you had sexual intercourse with Lee Sungyeol on eighteen separate occasions.”

“I just said that.”

“Then,” and Seo pointed at the first page of Exhibit One, “can you read Exhibit One’s statements as to how many interactions Sungyeol paid you?”

Miss Kim took the paper in hand to read where Attorney Seo was pointing. “It says sixteen.”

“Not eighteen? Are you lying?”

“No, I’m not.”

Woohyun knew the prosecutor would object. Or that Park should object. Park smiled silently, and Seo was oblivious, and Woohyun knew instantly that something was wrong. Very wrong. He wanted to stand up, to scream, at Seo or Sungyeol and do something. He wanted to end the line of questioning right there. Something was wrong.

“Then you weren’t paid for the other two occasions?” Seo said, smiling, as if she caught the witness in a trap.

“I was paid, but those two occasions were group session,” Miss Kim said, flipping Exhibit 1 onto its second page. “Look at the group sex sessions. His name’s not on the page, because he paid the agency directly, but the defendant indirectly paid me. See? On January and March of last year. Group sex session 1, with the fee, and group sex session 2, with the fee.”

Every mouth in the courtroom must have been agape hearing that statement, except for two people: Sungyeol, who clenched his teeth and closed his eyes, and Park, whose smile stretched from ear to ear. Attorney Seo put her right hand to her mouth, then to her forehead, and looked down in disbelief at the trap she encountered. She couldn’t even recover, and her mouth opened and closed, stupidly, for at least half of a minute.

The reporters in the room began rapidly scribbling with pen and paper, but Woohyun couldn’t hear them. His field of sight felt like it was narrowing as well, and all he could see was Sungyeol sitting at the defendant’s table. He could not tell what Myungsoo and Sungjong were saying or doing. He did not care. He barely heard what was being said on the witness stand.

Attorney Seo finally managed to recover, somewhat, and said, haltingly, “So in conclusion, in summary, what you’re saying is, you are a prostitute who is not being prosecuted despite having sex with men for money.”

“Objection,” Park smirked.

The judge seemed shocked by what the prostitute had earlier revealed, but managed to say “Sustained.”

Seo walked back to the defendant’s table, in a daze. When she sat, she put her head in her hands.

“Redirect?” Park said, with a false smile.

“Yes,” the judge said.

“Miss Kim, why did the agency pay you separately for the group sex fee?”

“It’s because the agency takes a lower cut of the fee for our male escorts and prostitutes. Also, the fee is calculated differently when it’s for group sex.”

“So in these group sex sessions, you participated in sex with male prostitutes as well as the defendant?”

“Male and female prostitutes. In the first session, the defendant had hired one man and two women, so there were two men and two women total. In the second session, the defendant hired two men and one woman, so there were three men and one woman total. Besides me, one man from the first session participated in the second.”

Even though he was staring at Sungyeol, Woohyun was hearing every word clearly, and he could barely swallow his own saliva. His eyes, he was sure, were bulging out of their sockets.

“And in these sessions, how did the sex occur? As in penetration?”

Seo finally managed to regain her nerve. “Objection. This is beyond the scope of cross-examination.”

Park turned to the judge. “The defense opened the door as to the group sex sessions.”

The judge nodded. “The objection is overruled. Witness may answer.”

“In the first session, there were two women and one man from the agency. The defendant was on his back. He performed oral sex on one of us, while another rode him, and the third rested.”

“And by ‘rode,’ what do you mean by that? I’m sorry, the court or the reporters might not know.” Park spoke with relish.

“He was on his back while he penetrated the person straddling him.”

“Your Honor,” pleaded Seo, “this is getting ridiculous and vivid. This is unnecessarily graphic.”

“Was that an objection?” Park said, pretending ignorance.

“It was!” Seo said.

“Please move quicker, Prosecutor Park. This is a courtroom. We don’t need a lesson in sex positions,” admonished the judge.

“Of course, Your Honor. Miss Kim, and what occurred during the second session?”

“The defendant was penetrating me or one of the two men, while one of the men from the agency was penetrating him. The fourth person took a rest. We changed positions shortly at the end when Sungyeol and one of the other men from the agency both penetrated me.”

“And during these sessions, did the defendant ever say anything?”

“Your Honor, objection, on the grounds of hearsay. Where is the prosecution going with this?” Seo said, speaking up.

“Sustained. We are done here, Prosecutor Park. We’ve spilled enough private details about the defendant’s sexual proclivities out in the open,” said the judge, who by now was looking annoyed.

The prosecutor looked briefly like she wanted obtain more interesting details, but refrained. “Then we’re finished, Your Honor, but we now admit signed affidavits from Miss Roh, Mister Bae, and Mister Choi corroborating Miss Kim’s testimony.”

The judge looked at Seo, who was looking at her notes while pressing her fingers to her temple. “Does the defense wish for a recross to discuss the issues further?”

Wooyun was now clenching his hands so tight he knew his fingernails must have been drawing blood. He wanted to hear nothing more from the attorneys or the witness. If he heard so much as another word about how Sungyeol had cheated on him to have orgies with prostitutes, he was going to stand up in this courtroom and scream in the middle of the courtroom. He didn’t even know if it was from grief and anger. All he knew, as he closed his eyes, was that he did not want to hear it any more.

Myungsoo and Sungjong, who knew him well as always, took the cue instantly. Myungsoo was wearing a heavy jacket, and he took Woohyun by the elbow while using his jacket to shield Woohyun’s face from view.

“ _Hyung,_ come with me, now,” he hissed, and Sungjong grabbed Woohyun by the other arm. 

Woohyun could feel himself being lead out of the courtroom, past the reporters in the benches, and as he burst out of the courtroom, he was glad he didn’t hear cameras flashing. Myungsoo and Sungjong were leading him, and he didn’t know where because his eyes were closed, but he heard a door open. When they stopped and he finally opened his eyes, he realized he was in the men’s washroom.

He screamed.

Sungyeol had done _what?_ As if it wasn’t enough to cheat on him with one woman, Sungyeol had cheated on him with three other prostitutes, one woman and two men? And to hear all of those details thrown out into the open? He wasn’t angry at the prostitute. He wasn’t angry with the prosecutor, and he thought he despised her. He was only angry at Sungyeol.

“What the fuck! Sungyeol! What the fuck!” And Woohyun screamed so loudly that Sungyeol probably did hear him from Department Three.

“What the fuck did you do!” He continued screaming. “Fuck! Lee Sungyeol!”

The anger did not cease, but it abided only enough for Woohyun to feel tears running down his face. He buried his head in somebody’s chest. Maybe it was Myungsoo’s. Maybe Sungjong’s. Maybe it was a complete stranger. He didn’t care at that moment.

In Department Three, Attorney Seo rapidly tried to recover, having watched from the corner of her eye as Woohyun left the courtroom.

“No, Your Honor, no recross is necessary. If we could just end here, please. We waive our preliminary hearing’s challenge to the other charges,” Seo stated.

“I agree. We’ve heard enough,” said the judge. “With the defense waiver, there’s enough evidence at hand to support these charges. The defendant Lee Sungyeol will appear in one month’s time to see what progress we’ve made. Court is adjourned.” She banged her gavel once.

Sungyeol sat there. He did not cry during that time. He just sat, even as the judge departed and the prosecutor and reporters left. He just waited for a few long minutes. And then he turned around. Howon was there. Howon was still reliable.

Myungsoo entered moments later, and his look told Sungyeol enough even before Myungsoo spoke.

“Don’t even go home, Sungyeol. Woohyun left on his own.” Myungsoo looked disappointed as well. “From his reaction, I think he might have left you permanently.”

Sungyeol gulped, and closed his eyes again.

He slept in his office at the legislative building that night, and one hour away in Changdong, Woohyun cried himself to sleep.


	3. Burden of proof

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here, the story's use of legal terminology will only increase. As mentioned earlier, the story will rely on the American legal system.

Woohyun barely slept that night. When he woke the next morning, he refused to watch television or read the morning papers. He did not want to hear anything about Sungyeol’s case. He did not even want to leave the house.

That meant he had nowhere to go, when the doorbell rang early in the morning. It could have been only one person, Woohyun knew. The housekeeper would not have let anybody else in through the gate.

He opened the door, and saw Sungyeol standing there in a clean, new suit with a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

Woohyun slapped him.

He didn’t even realize it until he put down his hand, seeing the skin of Sungyeol’s left cheek turn red before his very eyes, and he did not apologize even after he realized what he had done. Sungyeol had dropped the flowers, but remained standing.

“You’re scum,” Woohyun said, and it took effort not to spit.

“I’m sorry, Woohyun, I’m sorry for everything. Can you let me in?” Sungyeol said, pleading.

“No. Get out,” Woohyun said through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to see you again.”

“Woohyun, my name’s also on the deed,” Sungyeol said pleadingly. “It’s my house too.”

“Lee Sungyeol,” said Woohyun, closing his eyes. “If you come in here without my permission, I will leave this house and I will never live with you again. Am I clear?”

Sungyeol gave a sigh and a nod. “I know, Woohyun. Can we at least talk?”

“We’re talking now.” And Woohyun’s tone was cold, distant, and would have destroyed lesser men.

“Woohyun, I should have told you about the others,” Sungyeol started.

“ _Should_ have told me? Sungyeol, I thought you lapsed with one woman. You had orgies? Two of them?” Woohyun could feel his throat become dry and his voice crack.

“I did, Woohyun. And not just two of them. There was a third,” Sungyeol admitted, his shoulders sagging.

“Just three?” Woohyun asked, now looking at Sungyeol’s eyes.

“Just three,” Sungyeol nodded.

Woohyun took a deep breath, and then exhaled. “Then Sungyeol, I’m also going to ask you several questions. I want you to be utterly honest. If you admit to any of them, I will leave you immediately, but keep your secret to myself. But if you deny them and I learn later that you lied to me, then I will become your enemy. And if you are already dead by the time I find out, I will destroy your grave.”

Sungyeol gulped, and nodded.

“First, Sungyeol, how many people have you cheated on me with, during our marriage?”

Sungyeol answered flatly. “I don’t know.”

Woohyun gave a sigh, and shook his head. “Guess.”

“Six. No more than six.”

Woohyun kept staring at Sungyeol’s eyes, and kept asking. “Were any of them underage?”

“No.”

“Have you gotten any of the women pregnant? Because Sungyeol, we’ve been thinking of plans for children for years, and if you have a bastard son running around, I will never forgive you.”

“No, Woohyun, I don’t know if any of my partners have ever gotten pregnant. But I didn’t always use condoms. I honestly don’t know.”

Woohyun sighed, and kept asking. “Have you had sex with anybody that I am friends with? Or even if you think I know him or her?”

“No, Woohyun. They were the four prostitutes you heard about, and two one-night stands. Even I don’t remember all of their names,” Sungyeol said, and Woohyun saw shame when the man turned his head away.

“Have you ever taken campaign money or personal funds to pay any of the prostitutes?”

“No.”

“Has anybody ever paid these prostitutes as a favor to you?”

“No.”

“Have you ever taken a bribe?”

“No, Woohyun, I’m not corrupt like that.”

“Have you done any illegal favors for political friends?”

“No, I ran a clean campaign and a clean office.”

“Have you engaged in any sort of political corruption?”

“No, Woohyun. Only the prostitutes. They were the only mistake I’ve ever made in this marriage. I messed up, Woohyun, and I need you to take me back,” Sungyeol said. The taller man took a step forward to hold Woohyun by the shoulders, but Woohyun gave a glare which compelled Sungyeol to take a step back to where he was standing.

“And is there anything else you need to tell me, whether it’s a crime or not?”

“No, and you can ask me this at any time,” Sungyeol said, with finality.

Woohyun gave another sigh, and it was his turn to look down.

“You’re a fool, you know.” He could feel tears in his eyes again, but they didn’t fall. He had cried enough last night.

“I’ve made so many mistakes,” Sungyeol said.

“And you know what’s the worst part?” Woohyun asked, looking at Sungyeol.

“All of it’s terrible,” Sungyeol answered, glumly.

“If you had just asked me, Sungyeol, I could have done something about it. If you wanted something more, if you asked me for permission, I could have let you wander if I knew you’d come back to me. Six people, Sungyeol? Three orgies? You’re my husband. How could you do that to me?” Woohyun no longer felt the urge to cry. He just wanted to look at Sungyeol. The taller man seemed small now. Weak. Not the headstrong, confident prosecutor that Woohyun had married ten years ago.

“Woohyun.” And Sungyeol’s eyes flickered from the floor, to meet Woohyun’s eyes, then back the floor. After a minute’s silence, they flicked back to meet Woohyun’s. “I’m sorry.”

“You said that already. Now let me think about it.”

Woohyun let his hand linger on the door’s threshold, and he leaned forward, to think, silently.

“What happens now?”

“You should go home. Your parents still live in Haseong. Spend a few nights with them. I know they must be worried about you. After that, live with them or live in your office. Take care of your trial. I want nothing to do with that. I’m going to go to work as soon as I can, to take my mind off of this.”

“Does this mean … we’re separating?” Sungyeol said, and for the first time in a while Woohyun heard his husband’s voice start to crack, rising in tone. The look on Sungyeol’s face was one of disappointment and worry.

“Let’s just live apart, Sungyeol. And I don’t mean a break in our marriage. I’m just tired of this trial and this news. I just want some time to myself. When it ends, or rather, if it ends, and if I forgive you, then we can come back together.”

And Sungyeol reached down to pick up the flowers again, and turned away, and as soon as Woohyun saw Sungyeol’s back, he reached out a hand on Sungyeol’s shoulder. Sungyeol briefly turned back to Woohyun, looking surprised.

“Don’t get hurt, Sungyeol,” Woohyun said, without smiling, just a sort of disappointed look on his face.

Sungyeol nodded, and walked away.

Woohyun watched until Sungyeol passed the gate enclosing the manor. Then he reached down to pick up the morning paper.

 

—

 

The newspapers described Sungyeol’s court proceedings as first page news, and explained what would happen.

Woohyun could have shunned any contact with the media, but he considered himself emotionally strong enough and too politically savvy to keep quiet. So he watched the news, not just to hear about his husband, but also with the grim understanding that he too would have been mentioned.

The party spokesman, who Woohyun had confronted last week, explained on television what would happen to Sungyeol.

“Our party, the National United Democratic Party, officially announces that the Supreme Council has suspended the party membership of Assemblyman Lee Sungyeol. Our party would like to officially state that we are disgusted and disappointed by the court testimony that one of our members engaged in an extra-marital affair that involved having orgies with prostitutes. At the same time, we have no faith in the allegations of corruption that have been thrown at Assemblyman Lee, and by association, the National United Democratic Party. If the corruption allegations are proven true, we will expel Lee Sungyeol from our party and demand that he resign immediately. We will also advocate for the harshest possible punishment.”

Woohyun scoffed. The spokesperson, Sohn, spoke for the party, and the President was the public face of the party, but he knew who chose this course of action. It must have been the Party Chair. Woohyun could think of three or four other politicians from the ruling party who had been accused of much more serious crimes: bribery, extortion, and perjury. Yet the party did not rush to suspend those members. The Party Chair had a vendetta, Woohyun knew, against President Lee and the rest of her extended family. That, as Woohyun suspected, was the real reason Sungyeol’s case received such widespread and negative coverage.

As such, he still had a few more calls to make.

 

—

 

_Two weeks later_

“I’m not even sure _how_ you did what you did,” said the former President with a sigh. Her husband, Woohyun’s father, was by her side, looking more amused than annoyed.

“He did something, and he must have gotten it from you,” said Nam Sangho, turning to look at his son. “There’s no way you could have done that without knowing a great deal about the prosecutor’s office.”

Woohyun gave a hesitant chuckle. “I don’t think I crossed any legal lines in anything I did.”

Nam Sangho also laughed. “You must have gotten that from your mother. Defense attorneys are always reckless in judging where the line is, and how far they can get without crossing it. If you had inherited my genes, you would have been an overly cautious prosecutor.”

“And you two aren’t unhappy with what I did, right?”

“From what I understand, Supreme Council members Yoo and Hong had been holding on to that tape for a very long time. They were holding such a tape in reserve to release it at the most opportune time. How you managed to convince both of them to release it is something I do not know. The two of them did not tell me. But congratulations, Woohyun. Your husband’s story is now buried under a new political scandal. This time it’s the opposition which looks hypocritical,” said the former President.

“I did them a favor,” said Woohyun in agreement. “If they held on to that tape for too long, it would eventually have grown stale. We needed something that was still fresh, yet powerful enough to hurt the opposition.”

“And what does Sungyeol think of this?” The former President asked with her usual cutting inquiries.

“I talked with him on the phone,” Woohyun answered. He had rehearsed this part of the conversation in his head, expecting to answer it. “I just told him I was helping him.”

“He’s living with his parents right now?” Woohyun’s father asked.

Woohyun shook his head. “He has found a monthly lease in Haseong.”

“I think he’ll be fine for now,” said Nam Sangho. “Still, your husband’s trial could have all sorts of twists and turns. Maybe his case will become big news a second time. It’s only six months away.”

“My friends at the prosecutor’s office tell me they can bring the case right on time. This is not a case that will die down quietly,” said President Lee. “If you wanted to defend your husband full-time, you should not be returning to work.”

“But I want to return to work, mother, father,” Woohyun said. “And you told me that you already discovered a firm.”

“Yes, Woohyun. It’s called SLG. The name comes from the three principal partners. My aunt’s friend’s daughter-in-law is one of the principal partners, and she informed me that they had a job opening. It’s a sophisticated, modern firm, appropriate for somebody like you. They have big-name clients, including several politicians. You will not stand out too much there,” Lee Soonho explained.

“And you’ll like it there,” said Nam Sangho. “I looked at the list of partners at the firm, and their newest partner is Kim Sunggyu. You can meet your old friend!”

A jolt shot up Woohyun’s back upon hearing that name. _Kim Sunggyu_ , really? That man was the last person Woohyun would have wanted to work with. That sounded like work would become the most awkward experience imaginable.

“Oh, you remember Sunggyu,” said Lee Soonho with a smile. “I remember him too. Such a nice young man. Have you kept in contact with him since law school?”

Woohyun shook his head, hiding his nerves. “No, I haven’t. But I’m sure it’ll be great to see him after ten years.”

“Great!” Nam Sangho said, jovially. “Tell us how your friendship with Sunggyu goes.”

Woohyun could only laugh nervously.

 

—

 

_One week later_

Woohyun strained to remember how his family knew this woman. It struck him. This woman was his mother’s aunt’s friend’s daughter-in-law, Gil Seonhee. She was the G in SLG. She was a short woman, only standing to Woohyun’s shoulders, with her hair pulled back into a professional bun.

“And, Attorney Gil, this will be my office?” Woohyun asked, looking at the airy room. “Not a cubicle?”

“Don’t be silly, Attorney Nam. I couldn’t give you a cubicle. That would be improper for somebody like you. You, the son of President Lee Soonho. I voted for her,” said Gil Seonhee with a smile.

“And who will be my supervisor?”

“We’re a proud firm, but a small firm. I’ll be your supervisor for legal purposes, but I’m assigning you our most recent partner as a mentor,” she said. “It’s really been ten years since you practiced law?”

“It has. I worked for a commercial law firm for a few months but I stopped after I got married,” Woohyun explained.

“I understand. Marriage changes people,” Attorney Gil said, approvingly, before scanning the halls of the office. “And look, there’s your mentor! Kim Sunggyu, come meet your trainee!”

She waved over a man, taller than Woohyun and with hair dyed brown. The man turned over to look at the two, and then froze.

“That’s strange. He’s usually a very confident person,” Gil said, with an amused expression. “Come here!”

The man began walking towards Woohyun awkwardly. Woohyun was near besides himself, trying not to laugh. The way Sunggyu cleared his throat and tried to act nonchalant was classic behavior.

“Attorney Gil, who is this?” He said, tilting his head slightly and pretending ignorance.

Woohyun didn’t give him the chance. “It’s me, Nam Woohyun? Remember? From law school?”

Gil turned towards Woohyun and Sunggyu. “Really? You both went to Yeonsoong University? You should have told me earlier! I’m really proud that we hired Sunggyu. He graduated from the 49th cohort with the fifth-highest rank. What about you, Woohyun?”

“49th cohort,” Woohyun said, looking straight at Sunggyu’s eyes while still successfully preventing himself from laughing. “I graduated first.”

Gil Seonhee gave a look of shock. “Really! And I thought it was amazing that we hired the fifth-rank from Yeonsoong.”

“I know Sunggyu very well,” Woohyun said, not taking his eyes off of Sunggyu’s. “A core of the top students were rivals. Whether it came to tests or competitions, I always won. Isn’t that right, Sunggyu?”

Sunggyu cleared his throat. “Yes, Attorney Gil, I remember Woohyun doing even better than I did, in our graduation class.”

“But was it at least close?” Gil said, looking somewhat interested.

“No,” said Woohyun, who was now smirking.

“Oh,” said Gil, who now looked disappointed. But then she shrugged. “Anyways, Sunggyu here will be your mentor, and he’ll introduce you to law after your ten year absence. We’ve already assigned you a case.”

“Really?” Woohyun said. It made sense they would throw him into work on the first day. SLG was a proud firm.

“Yes. As part of our pro bono work, we were assigned to represent the defendant in a domestic violence case. I represented the case through the first trial, and now you’ll need to represent the client for the retrial,” Gil said, in a matter-of-fact manner.

“The client? Are we representing a woman who’s suing her husband for domestic violence?” Woohyun asked.

“Don’t be silly,” Gil replied. “Our pro bono work is criminal work. You’re representing the husband accused of beating his wife.”

Woohyun gave a surprised expression, so Gil continued.

“Don’t worry. It’s just a misdemeanor. Sunggyu, take care of Nam Woohyun please,” she responded, before giving a wave and leaving.

At that point, Woohyun turned to stare at Sunggyu, who was staring back just as vigorously.

 _This is exactly what I wanted_ , Woohyun thought. _My ex is now my boss._

 

—

 

The first and safest course of action, Woohyun thought, was to pretend that his past history with Sunggyu didn’t exist. That meant focusing on the case.

“This isn’t your case, is it?” Woohyun asked, peering through documents and reading files on his work computer.

“It isn’t,” said Sunggyu. “I was drafting a contract when this case went to trial. But now I’ve got to train you in being a lawyer.”

Sunggyu’s snappy tone was also familiar, Woohyun thought. He continued to read.

“This looks bad,” Woohyun said. “The jury deadlocked, 11-1. The judge even gave a dynamite instruction after three days of deliberation, and it didn’t affect the last person holding out. Attorney Gil’s notes say that only one person held out for acquittal. Everybody else wanted to convict.”

“Do you know why one person held out held out?” Sunggyu asked while trying to sort some of the papers.

“Attorney Gil asked him after the hung jury. The juror said he just didn’t believe accusations that men could hit women.” Woohyun said, while reading.

“That’s the only reason? Why was he on the jury?”

“I don’t know, but it suggests our case is absolutely terrible.”

“Attorney Gil wrote a little note here about trial strategy. She said the client was evasive during the interview. During trial, she argued a self-defense strategy, saying our client was defending himself from his wife’s attack,” Sunggyu said, finally picking some notes out of a folder.

“That sounds like victim-blaming,” Woohyun said.

“It is,” Sunggyu agreed. “Her notes suggest we should argue a different strategy, since her trial strategy nearly ended in a conviction.”

Woohyun in the meantime was rapidly scanning the page from the client’s interview with Gil, and noted comments to Sunggyu as he read. “It says from his initial interview that he admitted hitting her, but he wasn’t thinking. Maybe we can argue it was an accident?”

Sunggyu nodded. “Good luck. The client gave the victim punched her in the eye and left her bleeding. Does that sound like an accident to you?”

“I don’t know,” answered Woohyun. “We’ll need to ask the client whether it was an accident.”

 

—

 

“It wasn’t an accident,” the client explained. He was a stout but short man surnamed Heo. “She was talking and talking, so I punched her. In the face.”

Woohyun blinked. He then wrote the word “fuck” in his legal pad, and turned to Sunggyu next to him.

“This is going to be a hard case,” he said, and Sunggyu nodded.

“Why didn’t you tell Attorney Gil when she first argued your case? She argued self-defense,” asked Woohyun.

“I lied to her,” the client said nonchalantly. “She’s a woman. I worried she’d take my wife’s side if I told her the truth. So I said to her it was self-defense, and testified about that at trial. But you’re a man. You know how we react.”

This time it was Sunggyu who gave Woohyun a sideways look.

“Could you tell us more?” Sunggyu asked, without making eye contact with the client.

“It was a Friday, she was supposed to cook for me, and I come home and the house is a mess and there’s no food on the table. So I tell her, ‘Where’s my dinner?’ and she says ‘Could you give me a minute?’” The client answered. “I say, ‘I’ve been at work since six in the morning. You’ve had ten hours.’ And then she starts blabbering about how difficult it was, trying to keep the house clean with three young kids. I couldn’t stand hearing what she talked about, so I punched her. There was blood everywhere. I would have made her clean it up if she hadn’t run for the telephone and called the police. Then she walked out of the house.”

“What happened next? And remember, we’re your lawyers. You can tell us anything,” Woohyun said.

“I waited, thinking the police would come immediately. It took them an hour. By that time, my wife had walked back. She cleaned up the blood on her body and clothes and went to bed. When the police arrived, she came down and told them whatever she said happened. Then they arrested me. I’ve been here ever since,” the client said, before pointing to the walls of the local jail. “At least we’re in Changdong, where even the jails are nice.”

“Where’s your wife now?” Sunggyu asked.

“She’s at home,” said the client.

“Is she going to leave you?” Woohyun asked.

“No! Why would she? She loves me. We have three children together and I put food on the table,” said the client.

“You punched her, and she still plans to stay with you?” Woohyun asked.

“That’s what I know. She’s written me in jail,” the client answered. “She says she’s still mad at me and thinks a few months in the county jail will soften me up. Like I’m a piece of meat, and jail is the tenderizer.”

Woohyun gave a nod, and took charge for the rest of the interview while Sunggyu watched. When they finished, Woohyun left the jail first, with Sunggyu following.

“We can’t argue it’s an accident any more,” said Woohyun. “Because we heard our client say it wasn’t an accident. We’ll need to attack the sufficiency of the evidence. I looked at the prosecution’s materials that were turned over to Attorney Gil in the first trial. They never introduced any of the blood evidence. All they have are photographs of the victim, particularly her face, and her testimony.”

“It’s still pretty compelling. We could get a plea,” Sunggyu responded.

“The client didn’t want a plea. He thinks he should be acquitted.”

“Then we’ll need to work to produce an acquittal,” Sunggyu said. By now they had entered the company vehicle and were driving back to the office.

“I can handle it. I’ll write another discovery motion asking the prosecution for anything exculpatory. I can write opening statements now and draft closing statements now or during trial,” Woohyun answered calmly.

“I hope you still have all of your skills from mock trial,” Sunggyu said.

“Don’t worry, Sunggyu. I’ve retained all of the skills you remember,” Woohyun said, smirking.

Sunggyu hit the brakes, causing Woohyun to jerk forward in the passenger’s seat.

“Yah, Nam Woohyun, are you flirting with me? I am your boss, and this is your first day at work!” Sunggyu turned to look harshly at the younger man.

“You’re not _really_ my boss,” objected Woohyun. He had to admit it was easy for him to slip into this familiar banter.

“I am damn near close enough. Yah, Nam Woohyun, why are you being so informal? I have been a lawyer for over ten years. You haven’t been a lawyer for ten years,” Sunggyu said, visibly annoyed. He resumed driving, with his hands clenching the steering wheel.

“Sunggyu, you used to be so formal towards me,” Woohyun continued. To his surprise, he wasn’t sure why he was bringing up his past history with Sunggyu either. Woohyun was married, after all, and he was being very casual with an ex-boyfriend. At least to his relief, work was not nearly as awkward as he feared.

“Because you were smarter than me. I acted formally to you because you beat me at every test and competition we took together. But let’s see how smart you are after ten years,” Sunggyu said. “I’ve been practicing for a decade.”

“And in that decade, how many jury trials have you done?”

“None, but that’s not the point. I know how to write legal motions and perform discovery.”

“Wait, Sunggyu, you haven’t done a trial before?”

“Not a jury trial. It was a bench trial.”

“About what?”

“A client got into an accident and sued his insurance company to pay out.”

“Did you win?”

“No, but that’s not the point,” Sunggyu stammered, still visibly annoyed. “It’s more trial experience than you had.”

The two of them fell into silence as they soon pulled into the SLG parking lot. Sunggyu exited with a huff, and Woohyun followed behind with a small smile. Gil Seonhee was in the lobby with one of the partners, and she turned towards Sunggyu and Woohyun as she saw them.

“How did the meeting go?”

“Terrible,” Sunggyu answered. “We’re ditching the self-defense strategy because he lied to you and punched her on purpose. Now we can only argue that there’s insufficient evidence.”

Attorney Gil gave another disappointed look for half of a second, before she resumed her normal smile. “Clients can be difficult. I hope you can do better, Woohyun. Sunggyu, don’t put Woohyun here under _too_ much supervision. He’s smarter than you, from what I understand.”

Sunggyu’s mouth opened in shock, and he gave a disappointed pout.

 

—

 

The misdemeanor trial was held in Department 12, which was one of the smallest. Woohyun’s suit, double-breasted and light grey, was one of his plainer ones. That still meant it was the best suit in the room.

There was the small detail that the client was the only other man in the room wearing a suit. The prosecutor was a tall, athletic-looking woman whose skirt suit was light blue.

Woohyun and the client stood up as the judge entered. The judge was a tall and portly man, surnamed Cha. But when he looked at Woohyun, his smile disappeared, and he called up both attorneys to the bench.

The prosecutor looked somewhat surprised, but it was soon clear that the judge only wanted to speak to Woohyun.

“You are Nam Woohyun, son of Lee Soonho, correct?” The judge asked.

Woohyun nodded, causing the prosecutor besides him to look at him in surprise.

“Yes. Is there an issue?” Woohyun questioned.

“I want you, both of you, to know that I was nominated for a judgeship under President Kwon, but President Lee withdrew the judgeship. I was successfully appointed by President Yoon instead. I want you both to know that I will not let that failed nomination affect my judgment in any way.”

“I didn’t expect any favorable or unfavorable treatment,” Woohyun said, and the judge allowed the attorneys to return to their seats.

“Alright, Department 12 is now in session,” stated the judge with determination. “We’ll start by selecting a jury.”

Sunggyu had helped Woohyun prepare for instructing a jury, and between Woohyun and the experienced prosecutor, a jury was soon seated. The two lawyers and the judge were clear to weed out anybody from the jury who might have bias.

“And now for opening statements from the prosecution,” the judge said. By that time, jury selection had taken the morning to seat a jury of eight men and four women. There was nobody sitting in the courtroom’s gallery for such an unimportant misdemeanor case.

The prosecutor, who was surnamed Cheon, began her opening statement in a highly professional manner. She explained that evidence would show the defendant intentionally struck his wife with the intent of hurting her. The proof, she explained, would stem from the wife’s testimony as well as the photographic evidence. Woohyun was surprised to hear in her opening statement that this was her first domestic violence trial.

And from there, it was Woohyun’s turn to argue in court for the first time ever. He had memorized his speech over the past two days. He knew exactly what he wanted to say. He stood up, to proudly give his memorized speech, but decided that overconfidence could be an issue. So he glanced at his notes for a second before he delivered his opening.

“I’m Nam Woohyun. The defendant in this case is my client. I will explain what the evidence does not show. The prosecution will not present any physical test to show my client injured his wife. They will not show any photograph or test of the blood that supposedly came from the victim. They will not present any experts to opine about domestic violence. They will only present one side of the story. The prosecution’s story, however, will not satisfy all of your questions about the case. You will listen to them, and you will need to ask yourself whether there can be reasonable doubt about whether the defendant assaulted his wife that day, and whether there was an injury. And you will answer that question affirmatively.”

The trial began with the major witness in the case. The victim, surnamed Kim, claimed the defendant hit her after an argument, and that she called the police. The prosecutor acted professionally and courteously, and Woohyun only managed to object when the witness began answering the questions in a prolonged, narrative answer.

It was Woohyun’s turn next.

“Mrs. Kim,” he started, voice calm. He did not want to be seen blaming the victim for what happened to her. “You stated that the defendant punched you.”

“Yes.”

“Just once?”

“Yes.”

“And you called police immediately afterwards?”

“It was afterwards. I don’t know if it was immediately.”

“Could you give a time?”

“I ran over to the phone. It couldn’t be more than a minute.”

“And you called the police.”

“Yes.”

“But you did not stay to wait for the police?”

“No.”

“Were you bleeding at the time?”

“I don’t know.”

“And did you leave the house because you were bleeding?”

“No, I only realized that later.”

“Do you remember there being any blood in the house?”

“Yes, when I came back.”

“You were just mad?”

“Well, it hurt. I don’t know if it was bleeding at the time.”

“So when did you notice you were bleeding?”

“When I was outside.”

“How many minutes later?”

“Five minutes. At most ten.”

“And did you ever seek medical help for the injury?”

“No.”

“You walked out of the house with just facial pain, but when you came back, you were bleeding.”

“Yes.”

“And you cleaned off all of the blood on your return?”

“Yes, I washed my face and changed clothes.”

“You didn’t save these clothes.”

“No.”

“There was no blood on you when the police arrived.”

“No.”

“They listened to you, took a picture of your face, and then arrested the defendant.”

“Yes.”

“And at this point, you still did not seek medical assistance.”

“No.”

“One last question. I’m looking at the photograph. Do you see a scab?”

“Yes, by my eye.”

“Do you see any redness or inflammation?”

“It’s red, on the eyelid.”

“But it’s not a bruise.”

“No, the bruise developed later.”

“And you don’t have any pictures of a bruise?”

“No.”

“So the photo just shows some redness and a cut, taken by the police an hour after the event alleged.”

“Yes.”

Woohyun finished with his cross-examination.

From there, the case became more difficult. The prosecution called two more witnesses. The first was the policeman who testified that the victim said the defendant hit her. Woohyun objected strenuously to this testimony on the grounds of hearsay. The judge overruled Woohyun’s objection on the grounds that the victim’s statements qualified under the excited utterances exception. Woohyun pointed out that these statements were made an hour after the events in question, and were hardly in the heat of the moment. The judge did not alter his decision. The second witness was a medical expert who testified that the victim’s wounds could have stemmed from a physical blow. During cross-examination, Woohyun elicited just one favorable statement: the doctor had only viewed photographs of the victim’s wounds, and did not interview the victim. After that, the prosecution rested.

Woohyun did not call any witnesses for his client. For his closing argument, he argued that there was a reasonable doubt in the prosecution’s case whether the client inflicted the injury. Particularly, he questioned whether the scab and inflammation were inflicted by the defendant, and were not results of mundane injuries.

The judge then sent the jury to deliberate, and Woohyun stayed at the courthouse’s reading room. On the wall near a few law books, there were portraits of the last five Presidents. Woohyun thought the portrait of his mother made her face look too small, so he chose to sit in the lounge chair by the portrait of the current President. It took less than an hour for the jury to return its verdict.

The foreman of the jury read the verdict when Woohyun arrived back.

“We, the twelve members of the jury, find the defendant guilty on one count of assault,” he read.

“Is this your verdict?” The judge asked each of the jurors. They confirmed it was.

Woohyun felt his shoulders slump as soon as he heard the verdict. It was a verdict he had been expecting. His first case, as he predicted, was a loss. That was going to be his record, forever. He recovered soon after and explained to the client that on appeal, the defendant could raise his objections to an appeals court. The defendant seemed uninterested in that option.

“The court will enter the jury’s verdict of guilty into the record. The defendant has a week to submit any documents for the sentencing hearing held in two weeks,” the judge said, banging his gavel. “The defendant will remain in jail till then.”

Woohyun could only give the client a handshake before two court security officers escorted the client away. But before they did, Woohyun heard somebody speak.

“Darling, I still love you. I’ll be waiting for you when you get out,” said the victim, who was now standing in the courtroom.

“I’ll be okay,” the defendant said over his back, before the officers walked him out.

Soon afterwards, it was just the prosecutor and Woohyun standing there.

“After all we did for her, to put her husband in jail, she won’t leave her husband?” She scoffed.

“I’m not surprised,” answered Woohyun, packing up his bags.

“Why’s that?” The prosecutor asked.

“Love makes you do crazy things,” Woohyun said, and then he walked out.


	4. Class action

The meeting was at seven in the morning. Woohyun did not even bother suppressing a yawn as he trudged into the large conference room on the first floor, seating himself near the back. He had woken up at three in the morning that day to review documents for one of the law firm’s larger clients, and his day was only getting started. A considerable number of the attorneys from the SLG law firm were already present, sitting at the front of the room. Woohyun watched out of the corner of his eye as Sunggyu made his way into the front of the room and took a seat that allowed him to talk to Gil Seonhee rather easily. Gil, one of SLG’s three name partners, looked remarkably attentive and cheerful.

A few minutes later, Gil stood up to make her announcement. 

“Well, I think everybody is present, so I think we should get this meeting started. Today, we’re talking about Ingsan,” she started. She clicked a remote and a slideshow flickered from a projector. “We have a case involving a new client. Twenty-some years ago, a chemical plant in Ingsan polluted local sources of water with a chemical called perfluorooctanoic acid. The chemical plant changed hands several times before being shut down by its last owner, Reinergen Industries. PFOA, as the substance is called, either seeped into groundwater from unlined pools, or was poured directly into rivers. Fast-forward twenty years.”

She clicked through several images of a desolate chemical factory and a similarly bleak looking landscape.

“In Ingsan, the rates of testicular, prostate, and kidney cancer have increased to rates that are two, three times the rate in neighboring cities like Changdong or Haseong. In children, birth defects have reached three, four times the rate in normal cities. This PFOA contamination has reached hundreds, maybe thousands of people. Local people have blamed the chemical plant alleging that PFOA pollution was the cause of these health effects. Numerous plaintiffs have begun looking for lawyers to file a class-action lawsuit against Reinergen. Some have already filed.”

Woohyun was on the edge of his seat. He had read about numerous cases where large corporations had poisoned local communities. The threat was especially dire in cities like Ingsan, which were small, post-industrial landscapes with weak economies and high crime. He even remembered asking Sungyeol once about whether the Assembly would take action on environmental issues.

“From today, our number one priority is representing Reinergen against any class-action lawsuits.” Gil continued.

Woohyun gave a barely-audible scoff, but nobody around him paid him any attention. SLG was representing the _defendants_ , Woohyun realized, not the people whose health was being affected. He wasn’t naive: he knew SLG represented numerous large corporations. But this was on a different scale.

Neither Gil nor any other lawyer noticed Woohyun’s reaction, so Gil Seonhee began giving orders. “Lawyers Park, Jin, and Kwon. You three will put aside your insurance case for now. Work on documenting links between PFOA and cancer rates. Reinergen will be giving you their files now. Do not let them mislead you. The research division at Reinergen has its own reasons for concealing things from top management. Lawyers Woo, Seo, and Lee. You three will handle discovery. See exactly what information these plaintiffs have that makes them blame Reinergen or PFOA for cancer rates. Lawyers Kim, Kim, and Koh. You three will handle Reinergen’s interactions with environmental regulators. Lawyers Lee, Lim, and Choi. You three will assist me in negotiating settlements.”

At this point, Gil had finished divvying up the tasks and she gazed towards the back of the room with one of her calm smiles. “Lawyer Nam, in the back. Could you help work on defeating class certification? The smaller the class, the smaller the damages.”

Woohyun gave a nod, barely thinking. “Of course I can,” he said, before giving a small forced smile. But by then, Gil had already turned towards other attorneys before finishing up the orders.

“Lawyer Kim,” she said finally, turning towards Sunggyu. “You will liaison with Reinergen’s in-house counsel. This is not a plum assignment. I expect them to be remarkably uncooperative.”

Her eyes scanned around the room one more time. “Does everybody understand their assignments? Good. If anybody has questions, please feel free to ask. You are all dismissed.”

 

—

 

It was no surprise to Woohyun that his meetings with the plaintiffs’ lawyers failed. He was unable to persuade them to drop their attempt at seeking class certification. That meant instead that he would need to represent Reinergen in court today.

“I always like it when lawyers settle their issues before coming here and yelling at each other,” said the judge, surnamed Yeom. Unlike the judge at Woohyun’s first court appearance, she seemed both harsh and confrontational while simultaneously showing a lack of interest in the proceedings before her.

“We couldn’t settle, Your Honor,” said the plaintiffs’ lawyers, who Woohyun knew as Lawyer Koh.

“And why’s that?” Judge Yeom asked skeptically. “I like settlement. It saves the court’s time, especially when I’m running a crowded docket.”

Woohyun answered, saying “We couldn’t settle because there’s nothing to settle. We’re opposing a motion seeking class certification.”

The judge looked at Woohyun at the defendant’s table, then at the woman representing the plaintiffs, and looked back at Woohyun.

“You mean I wasn’t here just to approve a settlement?” She scowled.

Woohyun nodded hesitantly. “Yes, Your Honor. We’re on the motion calendar starting from eight this morning. You were supposed to rule on the motion to certify the Ingsan class.”

The judge blinked, gave a sigh, and rubbed her eyes. “I am getting too old for this,” she said, despite the fact that she was younger that Woohyun’s parents. “Alright, we’re going to start all over. Who are you?”

She had been pointing at Woohyun, who answered first. “I’m Nam Woohyun, counsel from the SLG law firm representing Reinergen Industries.”

The other attorney there was a bit older than Woohyun. “I’m Koh Hyemi, representing the West Ingsan plaintiffs, The other attorney, representing the East Ingsan plaintiffs, is not here today. We each represent a group of plaintiffs who were harmed by Reinergen’s pollution of Ingsan’s water supplies, and jointly filed a motion seeking class certification that would allow the two groups to be certified as one class in the lawsuit against Reinergen,” said the lawyer, who had stood up to speak.

“And with all due respect to opposing counsel, Your Honor, Reinergen thinks that class certification is inappropriate, and I’ve filed our opposition,” Woohyun answered.

“Well,” answered the judge, putting her hands up in a questioning manner, “I guess we’re going to do exactly what I dislike. Pretend I haven’t read any of your motions, and instead yell at each other explaining why I should rule in your favor.”

Lawyer Koh gave an uneasy smile before she started addressing the judge.

“Alright, Your Honor. The two groups of plaintiffs have each been certified as a class under Title 12(1), and we’re seeking to consolidate the cases together into one larger class action under Title 12(2). Between the Ingsan West and Ingsan East plaintiffs, we’re talking about three hundred people who have already signed on. The common question of law before the court is whether Reinergen’s harmful pollution of Ingsan’s waters was responsible for the class’s increased rates of cancer and for birth defects in their children. In one fell swoop, we can answer these questions as a group,” Koh explained first.

“And Reinergen disagrees,” Woohyun answered. “Opposing counsel is trying to answer too many questions at once. The plaintiffs are trying to answer the question of whether Reinergen’s disposal of perfluorooctanoic acid caused harm, but the question is too vague when you look at what types of harm are being alleged. The plaintiffs have blamed Reinergen for various cancers and various birth defects. Each allegation requires a different answer. There’s no fell swoop here that can answer the question for every member of the class.”

“This is sounding good,” said Judge Yeom. “Nobody has yelled at each other. So both of you have made your claims. Now the two of you will have to start citing some legal authority to back up your claims.”

“I’d like to bring your attention to the Yooram litigation,” Woohyun explained first. “The plaintiffs there were denied certification at the Supreme Court because the common question was too broad. It was a medical malpractice case at a hospital in the capital city. The plaintiffs there argued that the hospital’s negligent safety practices resulted in various nosocomial infections, but the Supreme Court ruled that the injuries stated were too broad to justify class certification.”

“But,” said Koh, cutting into Woohyun’s speech, “the Yooram litigation was decided by an extremely conservative Supreme Court over two decades ago, and we, speaking for both classes, believe that Yooram was wrongly decided. With the rapid turnover in the court in the last five years, we believe that the Yooram case would be decided the other way by today’s judges. In fact, we’d like to bring the Koo-In device litigation to your attention. There, the Court of Appeals allowed the class to be certified where faulty medical screws caused bone infections as well as decreased motor ability.”

“Counsel cites the Koo-In litigation, Your Honor,” said Woohyun, beginning to get argumentative, “but that case came from the Court of Appeals for the Northern Circuit. It’s not applicable in Changdong, and I would cast suspicion on a case from a Court of Appeals with its reputation.”

“How was the Koo-In litigation resolved?” The judge asked, putting her chin in the palm of her hand.

“It’s on appeal to the full bench of the Northern Circuit Court of Appeals, and I expect that it’ll be appealed to the Supreme Court regardless of the outcome,” answered Koh.

“But,” and it was Woohyun’s turn to interject, “even if the Koo-In litigation is approved on appeal, the case is easily distinguished. The Koo-In litigation involved one company, one device, a window of two years, and only three or four types of injury. Here, the Ingsan plaintiffs are suing on behalf of hundreds of people injured by at least a dozen types of cancers and birth defects. They’re suing for misconduct alleged over twenty years, and cite contamination from three or four different sources of PFOA. Even assuming that the Yooram case is reversed and the Koo-In litigation is affirmed on appeal, the circumstances in our case are substantially different.”

“And how would you answer that, Lawyer Koh?” The judge asked, turning to the plaintiffs’ attorney.

“We think it’s just one question that can be answered for an entire class,” Koh said. “Although Reinergen had just one factory, they poisoned hundreds. Maybe even thousands.”

“Objection, Your Honor, Reinergen is in the middle of litigation that’s designed to answer _exactly_ whether it poisoned anybody,” responded Woohyun, standing up, but the judge silenced him with a wave.

“You’re arguing a motion, Lawyer Nam,” she said with an annoyed look. “You can’t object to opposing counsel’s argument.”

Lawyer Koh was about to continue before the judge glared at her too. “And he has a point. Unless you can point to a court judgment saying Reinergen poisoned anybody with PFOA, I do not want you to throw up untested allegations in hopes of gaining sympathy with me.”

The plaintiffs’ lawyer gave a chastened nod before she continued.

“In this case, we are dealing with one factory, and thousands of people affected. The two classes should be certified as one,” Koh said, before sitting back down.

Woohyun stood up again to argue. “One last thing, Your Honor. The plaintiffs’ lawsuit was brought seeking declaratory or injunctive relief under Title 12(2), section 3. But Reinergen has already discontinued the use of PFOA at its Ingsan facility. The plaintiffs have argued that they need a class action to obtain declaratory or injunctive relief for all members of the class, but that issue is now moot. At the very least, the lawsuit should be limited to damages, and must be filed again.

“Is that true?” The judge asked Lawyer Koh, “that PFOA has been discontinued?”

“We’ve heard reports, yes, but we couldn’t be sure,” the lawyer answered, becoming slightly nervous.

“Those reports were announced on Reinergen’s website and in three local newspapers,” Woohyun pointed out. “Reinergen has publicly announced it is voluntarily discontinuing the use of PFOA, and we are entering a settlement with environmental regulators that will likely have the same effect.”

The judge by now was looking downright suspicious of the plaintiffs’ lawyer.

“We need a court order barring Reinergen from polluting the land with PFOA again,” said Lawyer Koh, now apprehensive. “Besides, the court order is just one part of our lawsuit, and not the major part of the litigation.”

“According to what opposing counsel had filed,” Woohyun said, “the plaintiffs’ lawyers were relieved from fulfilling the requirements of Title 12(2), sections 1 and 2, because they sought a court order under section 3.

“I don’t believe the plaintiffs need a court order as part of their lawsuit,” said Judge Yeom with skepticism. “A court order will do nothing about cancer or birth defects. Even assuming that Yooram was wrongly decided and Koo-In provides guidance, your opposing counsel has a very good point. You should file again, not under section 3, and properly.”

“Your Honor,” said Lawyer Koh in disbelief. “We can’t file again. We were right at the edge of the statute of limitations. At the very least, the statute of limitations on many of these claims should be suspended so we can file all of our claims.”

Woohyun swallowed, before speaking. “If the older claims are barred by the statute of limitations, there might not be enough members of a class for class certification.”

Lawyer Koh’s eyes went wide in anger, and she turned towards Woohyun with anger. “You’re not really making this argument now, are you?”

Woohyun turned away, without meeting her eyes.

“Both of you argued well, but the attorney for Reinergen has persuaded me,” the judge said, with an air of finality. “The class certification is denied. The two classes will not be joined into one group of plaintiffs. Counsel for both sides must submit motions arguing whether I should suspend the statute of limitations. Court is adjourned. Neither of you are to bother me until after lunch.”

The judge banged on her gavel once, and quickly left the courtroom.

Lawyer Koh turned towards Woohyun with a furious look in her eyes.

“Do you know what you’re doing? Is this all so you can make money? Thousands of people were hurt by your client. For every plaintiff that I signed up, there must have been two that refused to sue because they didn’t want to get their hopes up. They knew Reinergen would hire top-dollar lawyers like you, and they knew they’d never see a cent,” she snapped, anger visible.

Woohyun was taken aback, stepping backwards without thinking consciously.

“It’s not just about the money,” he protested. “The law doesn’t allow for your type of lawsuit. It’s better for your clients to realize that now, before this case went further, that their chances of winning were small.”

The lawyer turned on her heels and walked away with a snarl of contempt. “I hope you feel good about what you’re doing to all of these plaintiffs,” she said over her back, before she stomped off.

 

—

 

“Do we do good work, Sunggyu?” Woohyun asked, giving his eyes a break from staring at documents for hours.

“My performance evaluations are stellar,” the older man answered, taking a sip of coffee.

“No, not like that,” Woohyun said. “Are we doing work that helps people?”

The older man continued to look surly while staring at his laptop. He wouldn’t have been working in the same room as Woohyun if their floor wasn’t undergoing fumigation.

“This isn’t college, Woohyun. I can’t get drunk and high and spout philosophy for three hours any more with you any more. We have to be professional,” said Sunggyu, still not looking up.

“I’m serious,” said Woohyun, frowning. “It’s about a case I had.”

This caused Sunggyu to put down his coffee and stare at Woohyun with suddenly softening features.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Woohyun. What was your question again?”

Woohyun nodded and spoke quietly. “It’s about the Reinergen case. In Ingsan.”

“What about it?”

“I represented the client before the court, and I won, but I’m not happy about it. I want to know if I made the right decision.”

“You’re still on the case?”

“I thought I would be finished after I helped defeat class certification, but Gil Seonhee just told me how happy she was with my work, and asked if I wanted to continue working on the case in the future.”

“What did you say?”

“I told her I wanted to handle this mountain of documents before I took on more work than I could handle,” Woohyun said, pointing to his work.

Sunggyu let the words sink in first. “Reinergen is a tough client. Their lawyers are some of the worst I’ve dealt with. They’re competent yet completely inconsiderate.”

“Is it a good thing that I won? It means hundreds or thousands of people who were hurt need to find another way to sue our client. Some of them won’t be able to sue at all, because I pointed out their lawyer’s mistake,” Woohyun said hesitantly.

“It’s what was best for our clients, right?” Sunggyu said. “Reinergen brings in millions of dollars of business to SLG, and they deserve the best representation that we can give them. Anything else would be a betrayal of our client.”

Woohyun pondered on that thought for a moment. “But is it really the best if we defend our client. What if,” and he turned around to confirm the room was as empty as he thought it was, “what if we shouldn’t defend our clients?”

Sunggyu gave a curious look. “Why are you asking me after the Reinergen case, and not after your _pro bono_ case where you defended a man who hit his wife?”

“That might have been an exception!” Woohyun said with a laugh. “I don’t even know if I’ll handle a criminal case again. But I’m sure I’ll be defending more corporations like Reinergen.”

Sunggyu’s eyes met Woohyun’s. “It’s not our choice as SLG lawyers. Gil Seonhee gave us an assignment. If you don’t want these types of assignment, you shouldn’t work here.”

Woohyun didn’t say that he needed the money. In truth, he didn’t need the money yet. This job was a hedge, in case he wanted to return to work in the law later. He cast his eyes downwards, still thinking.

“If it’s good for our clients, is it supposed to be good for everybody?” Woohyun continued asking.

Sunggyu let that question absorb before he answered. “It’s good for everybody if we do the best for our clients. We’re lawyers, Woohyun. We need to defend our clients, no matter what, because the law doesn’t work if we pick and choose who deserves to be protected.”

“Does that answer my original question?” Woohyun said, beginning to return to his work.

“What we do as lawyers is good,” Sunggyu said, picking up his coffee again. He took a sip of the fragrantly bitter liquid and let his eyes gaze toward Woohyun beyond the cup. “Just don’t think that it makes us good people.”

 

—

 

“So tell me about work,” Sungjong said, poking at a piece of chicken before deciding it was worth eating.

“It was boring at first,” Woohyun answered, before eating a piece of his own steak. “Except for the fact that Sunggyu’s there.”

The younger man put down his fork to stare at Woohyun for a second, before letting his eyes glance around the European-style restaurant where they were eating.

“ _Kim Sunggyu?_ ” Sungjong asked, voice barely rising above a whisper. “You mean, our friend with you at the law school?”

Woohyun raised an eyebrow at Sungjong’s new tone. “What are you whispering for? Anybody who knew you or me from ten years ago would know that we were friends.”

“You were more than friends,” Sungjong said, sulking as if he was younger than his thirty years of age. 

“I remember well,” Woohyun said. “And now he’s my boss.”

Sungjong’s eyes bulged. “Really? You mean,” and Sungjong’s voiced trailed off for a short time before the man collected his thoughts. “He gives you orders?”

“He’s always been giving me orders,” Woohyun deadpanned. 

Sungjong nodded for a second before he began speaking. “I haven’t kept in contact with him for the last few years.”

“That’s more contact than me,” Woohyun answered. “There were seven of us at Yeonsoong, but then I graduated. I also got married right afterwards. I haven’t seen Dongwoo in eight years, and before I started my job I hadn’t seen or talked to Sunggyu in nine years. Do you know what the two of them have been doing?”

“Dongwoo has been all over the world,” Sungjong said, finally resuming eating. “He’s still working as a businessman in one of the medium-sized _chaebol_. I think it was Segye Geonseol. He lived in both Canada and America for a few years, but he’s been back here for at least three years. Sunggyu’s a lawyer, you know that. He used to work for one of the large civil firms before SLG’s founding members helped poach him away.”

“Tell me,” Woohyun responded, relishing the gossip. “And how do you know all of this anyways? You’ve talked to them often?”

“I do talk to them,” answered Sungjong. “I saw Dongwoo a few years ago when I was shopping, and I talked about Sunggyu when I had lunch with one of SLG’s major partners. It was Lim Jinsol. She’s the L in SLG.”

Woohyun guessed the latter before Sungjong even explained.

“Anyways, Sunggyu worked at a civil law firm, Handeok Law Firm. Two of the partners, Lim Jinsol and Gil Seonhee, were getting restless about the direction the firm was going in. The two persuaded him and several other associates to leave their firm and join a new firm that had just been formed. SLG was the result,” Sungjong continued explaining, between a few bites at his food.

“You really do know far too much. You aren’t saying anything that you learned over the course of your employment, are you?” Woohyun said with a smile.

“Of course not. First, I might work for the Ministry of Justice, but I’m not a prosecutor. I don’t get access to the police files,” Sungjong answered. “Second, remember that I am a lawyer too. I know how to be discreet and professional. Third, remember that I am a lawyer, and this sort of employment gossip circulates easily.”

Woohyun looked down at his food again, picked up his glass of wine by the stem, and took a long sip. He topped off his glass with more wine from the bottle, before shooting a glare at a passing waiter who had tried to approach their table.

“It’s the gossip that’s easily the worst,” Woohyun said, casting a dark look at the now-retreating waiter. “I wonder if my dinner with you tonight will lead to rumors tomorrow.”

Sungjong shook his head in disbelief. “You’re married and I have a girlfriend. Unless there’s something you’d need to tell me.”

Woohyun sighed. “It’s about Sungyeol.”

Sungjong’s face grew wary and concerned. “You can tell me anything, Woohyun. We’ve been friends since college.”

“Sungyeol and I are taking some time apart,” Woohyun whispered, leaning forward in his seat. “He’s found his own place, and I’m living at our house in Changdong.”

“You two are separated?” Sungjong hissed.

“Not legally separated,” Woohyun said. “I don’t know what the legal status is. We’re just living apart from each other for the time being.”

Sungjong tilted his head in slight disapproval. “That sounds like a legal separation to me, with all of the resulting legal consequences.”

It was Woohyun’s turn to hiss. “I said, don’t use that word. We’re going through a rocky period in our relationship. And I don’t want anybody else to know. I don’t want people using that word.”

A wave of realization flickered momentarily over Sungjong’s face. “That’s why you’re worried about being seen with me? Because once they know you’ve separated, the media will think everybody you’ve eaten dinner with is a potential love interest?”

Woohyun nodded. “I expect it’ll become public news within a short period of time.”

Sungjong was silent for a moment before answering. “I think there is something you could do about that.”

Only a brief flicker of anger rose up in Woohyun as he turned to look at the younger man. He suspected he knew where the conversation would go. “And what is that?”

Sungjong pursed his lips, took a slow, deliberate bite of his food, and took a remarkably long time to swallow before he answered, softly. “You could go back to him.”

Woohyun blinked twice while looking at Sungjong, then leaned back in his chair while crossing his arms in a show of hostility. “It sounds like you’re taking his side.”

“It’s not like that, Woohyun,” said Sungjong with a sigh. “I was there when you broke up from your,” and Sungjong paused to be circumspect, “when you broke up from the man you’re now working with. And I know how your ex-boyfriend made you feel, and I know how Sungyeol helped you get out of your life’s darkest moments, at least until now. I honestly think Sungyeol loves you, and I know that nobody has ever made you feel the way Sungyeol makes you feel.”

“Nobody has ever, ever made me feel as humiliated and ashamed as Sungyeol has. Nobody has ever treated me as badly as Sungyeol has,” said Woohyun, his voice rising above a whisper, just loud enough that someone could have overheard him. He could have been angrier, but he had been friends with Sungjong for too long. “He cheated on me, multiple times, with hookers.”

“Then why haven’t you left him?” Sungjong said. “You must know there’s a reason. He cheated on you, and everybody knows this. You must love him enough that you can’t divorce him immediately. If that’s the case, you can love him enough to go back to him.”

The two of them took the time to pause and resume eating. After what must have been five minutes of silence, Woohyun resumed talking.

“So at work, I have this lawsuit,” he started.

“You’re not allowed to tell me this,” Sungjong answered flatly, cutting Woohyun off, though still relieved at where the conversation had turned. “I do not want any accusations of collusion between a corporate defendant and the government.”

“What made you think I was talking about a corporation?” Woohyun retorted.

“You work for SLG. Lim Jinsol and Gil Seonhee are some of the best lawyers for corporate defendants in the country. They are the ones hired when corporations are in serious need of help. They do work for plaintiffs, of course, but not exciting work that you would tell me about,” Sungjong said, in his matter-of-fact manner. He also took a sip of wine.

“Alright, you’re right. It’s a corporate defendant, and there’s a lawsuit,” acknowledged Woohyun.

“And what about it?” Sungjong said. “Without any details.”

“You’re right. I can’t elaborate. But the case is making me think about what it means to be a lawyer,” said Woohyun. 

“That’s it?” Sungjong said skeptically, before a thought occurred to him. “You _were_ always the one most interested in philosophy out of all of us.”

“It’s a new experience,” Woohyun said. He finished his wine with a gulp and set down the glass. “I’ll tell you more when it’s over.”

Sungjong glanced around the restaurant once more. Patrons had filtered out over the course of the conversation.

“I’ll be leaving now,” he said. “I can pick up the tab.”

“No, don’t.” Woohyun answered. “I have a job now. I can pay.”

Sungjong nodded. “It’s only ten in the evening. What are you doing for the rest of the night?”

“I need to call Sungyeol,” Woohyun said, as he pulled out his wallet to pay. He stared at the roll of banknotes in his hand before he continued speaking. “I want to hear his voice.”

Sungjong gave a small smile. “Good night then, Woohyun.”

“Good night, Sungjong,” he answered.

Sungjong left and Woohyun remained seated in the booth. He finished half of another glass of wine, and departed.


	5. Deliberate indifference

It took physical effort for Woohyun to sit there and not cross his arms, or frown, or do something that would have visibly displayed his discomfort.

“You have a second, don’t you?” Gil Seonhee asked, turning to the junior lawyer. “I know this is a personal, private visit, but you have a second to spare, don’t you, Nam Woohyun?”

Woohyun gave a curt nod, trying to put on a smile before his supervisor.

“Of course, Attorney Gil. Lee Howon and I can talk in my office,” Woohyun said, rising to his feet. Across from him, Howon looked at first Woohyun, and then Gil, with a wary gaze.

“No, no, be seated. Nobody is scheduled to use the conference room for the rest of the day. Lee Howon, do you want coffee? Tea? I can have a secretary make some for you,” Gil continued, getting up herself.

“Some water will be fine,” Howon said, not smiling either. Gil gave a nod of her head, and handed Howon a bottle of water from a table by the door of the room.

“Well, it was good talking to you about your interest in our firm. We’d love to start our own political consulting arm. If you have any more questions or issues for me, please talk to me after you’re done talking with Woohyun,” Gil said. She gave a friendly wave and walked away. It was just Woohyun and Howon in the room.

Woohyun stood up to close the door before he settled again in the reclining chair. Anybody observing the two of the through the glass walls would have noted considerable displeasure on Woohyun’s face.

“Howon, why are you here?” Woohyun finally asked, staring daggers.

“You should know why, Woohyun,” Howon replied. “You haven’t been answering my calls.”

“That’s because I’ve been ignoring them,” Woohyun responded, aloof and cold.

Howon sighed. “I could have guessed that.”

“It’s because I don’t want to talk to you.” Woohyun snapped, and Howon shrank just a tiny bit before mustering up his courage again.

“I also guessed that,” Howon said. Before he could continue, he was cut off.

“Then why are you here, if you knew this?”

“It’s because I need to talk to you, badly. It’s about Sungyeol,” Howon said. “You can’t ignore the issue any more.”

“I haven’t been ignoring Sungyeol. I just talked to him yesterday,” Woohyun said. “He’s doing fine. He’s eating well, getting enough sleep, and he’s still going to work.”

“But you haven’t been paying attention to what he’s doing _for_ work?” Howon asked, careful not to get on Woohyun’s negative side.

“No.” At this point, Woohyun leaned back in his chair. He was almost crossing his arms, but not yet.

Howon sighed again. “Sungyeol’s work at the Assembly is getting erratic, Woohyun. He’s been suspended from his party, and lost all of his committee assignments. When he goes to lunch in the cafeteria, the other Assemblymembers don’t even sit next to him. He’s in bad shape.”

Woohyun raised an eyebrow. “This is meant to surprise me?”

“No, Woohyun, it’s meant to be a plea for help. You need to help your husband,” Howon said to the other man. 

“And what do you want me to do?” Woohyun asked, now crossing his arms again.

“I want you to make an appearance with Sungyeol. You weren’t by his side at the press conference when he apologized the second time, after his first appearance at court,” Howon said, now leaning forward. “It would have made Sungyeol look a lot better if his husband was there and visibly supporting him.”

“Sungyeol couldn’t have made me appear at that press conference unless I was dead,” snapped Woohyun. “It was the day after that whore testified. He didn’t tell me about it, Howon. He didn’t say a damn word about any of it.”

Howon looked visibly taken back, and tried to clear his throat before Woohyun jumped into the conversation again.

“Did you know about it, Howon? Did you have any clue about it?” Woohyun said, voice turning quiet and cold.

“I can’t answer that,” Howon said, in a voice that returned to its normal level of assertiveness. “That’s privileged.”

“Don’t take me for a fool, Howon. You’re not Sungyeol’s lawyer. You know very well that there’s no privilege between a campaign manager and a politician,” said Woohyun, hissing. “This is probably why you failed law school.”

“There’s not a legal privilege,” Howon said, eyes rising to meet Woohyun’s in equal vehemence. “But I’m going to keep Sungyeol’s confidences with me. You can put me on the witness stand and I still wouldn’t disclose his secrets. Sungyeol is my client, not you. Even if Sungyeol bragged to me about all of the whores he fucked, I wouldn’t tell you a word.”

Woohyun wanted to stand up, right there, and walk out of the room. But Howon was fighting, desperate to help Sungyeol, and that determination moved Woohyun just so slightly. So Woohyun sat there, still sulking, but still willing to listen to what the younger man had to offer.

There was a pause, heavy and weighty, before either of them spoke.

“I understand,” Woohyun said with a huff and sharp exhale of breath. “What do you want me to do? Because I won’t do a thing if you beg me to stand next to Sungyeol and say I support anything he does.”

Howon nodded. “Could you just listen, first?”

It was Woohyun’s turn to nod, and Howon continued.

“Two days ago, the National Assembly voted on the financial secrecy bill. This was one of the President’s signature ideas. It was not a budget bill or something that needed to be passed at all costs, but it was a bill that the President very much wanted to pass,” Howon started. “When the bill came up, there were a few members of the ruling party that were too ill to attend the vote. But the opposition managed to bring all of their members to the vote.”

“I heard nothing about this,” Woohyun said, honestly.

“When it came to a vote, the ruling party was short of just one vote needed for a tie. The Assembly speaker would have voted with the ruling party to break the tie, but we needed a tie. There were thirty minutes allotted to the vote,” Howon said. “For the first twenty-eight minutes, Sungyeol didn’t vote.”

Woohyun gave a small smirk. This sounded exactly like a high-stake move that Sungyeol would have done.

“Who was the floor leader for the ruling party at the time?” Woohyun asked.

“The official floor leader was too sick to attend. Representative Yoo from the Supreme Council was there instead,” Howon said.

“I can only imagine her reaction,” Woohyun said with a droll smile.

“She nearly blew a vein in her forehead,” said Howon, laughing in a conversation with Woohyun for the first time in too long. “She looked like she was going to strangle Sungyeol on the floor of the National Assembly.”

Woohyun shook his head with another smile. “And then Sungyeol voted for the bill.”

“He did, and then the Speaker broke the tie. And then Representative Yoo called me and yelled at me for an hour. You know that feeling,” said Howon.

Woohyun nodded. He chose not to claim that Representative Yoo was all bluster, because he suspected Howon already knew.

“And how do I figure in this?”

“I want you to talk to Sungyeol and warn him against doing anything rash. He was—” Howon paused for just a second, looking at Woohyun, before collecting his thoughts and speaking, “—could be a rising star in our party. He has many traits that are a benefit only in the ruling party. He’s the son-in-law of a former President, namely, your mother. If he leaves the ruling party to try to join the opposition, he’ll be scorned by both the ruling party and the opposition. It would be the worst situation for him.”

“I thought the ruling party left _him_.” 

“We both know Sungyeol made a mistake, but he doesn’t deserve this. If we all work together—you, me, Sungyeol’s lawyers, the President, the Supreme Council—then Sungyeol can win his trial and repair his reputation. It’s the only way he has any opportunities left to him. He still has a chance.”

Woohyun took the time to listen and think. There was another pause as the two of them looked at each other. In that time Howon took the time to unscrew his water bottle and take a sip, while still making eye contact with Woohyun.

“I’ll tell Sungyeol not to do anything stupid,” Woohyun said, standing up. Before he left, he turned again to Howon. “I’ll take _one_ of your calls each week, so make it count. And do not try to contact me through my work again.”

He left, with Howon watching his every step.

—

“Are you in there, Nam Woohyun? I couldn’t find you in your office, can you—What is that! Could you put your leg down!”

Sunggyu had walked into the office’s wellness room expecting to find Woohyun sleeping on one of the cots to make up for a sleepless night. What he saw instead was Woohyun alone in the room in what he considered an obscene stretch, with the younger man stretching his left leg so far back that his ankle was behind his head.

Woohyun’s eyes darted towards Sunggyu’s with a smirk, but he obliged the other man and ceased stretching, before rolling over onto his stomach and looking up.

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen a million times before, Sunggyu,” he said with one of his customary smiles. “Last time you saw it, I was wearing much less.”

Woohyun was wearing sweatpants and an undershirt, and Sunggyu noted a thin sheen of sweat on the other man. Sunggyu cleared his throat with a grunt, pretending he did not hear Woohyun’s comment, before he regained his composure.

“I thought you would be here, Woohyun. I’m giving you a case.”

“It’s not from Attorney Gil?” 

After speaking, Woohyun resumed a yoga pose, keeping his legs flat on the floor while lifting his torso up from the ground with his arms. Sunggyu’s eyes darted away as he spoke.

“No, it’s from me. I helped on a case that Attorney Lim and Attorney Gil had requested I take. But I have a week’s worth of depositions on the Reinergen case that I need to handle, and the case I’m giving to you isn’t a promising one.”

Woohyun ended that pose, rolling on his back again and lifting up his legs together so that they formed a 90-degree angle with his torso.

“What type of case is it?”

“It’s from our plaintiff-side litigation. SLG partnered with a local civil rights organization to sue the police on behalf of people injured by police violence.”

“And what’s the issue?”

“The civil rights group has terrible lawyers, and they botched the case. Their lawsuit is going to be dismissed on summary judgment unless you can assist them—can you please not do that either?”

Woohyun had remained on his back, facing away from Sunggyu, opening his legs so that they formed an acute angle. This time, Woohyun had meant to be suggestive. He gave another trademark smirk at Sunggyu, closing his legs and letting them rest on the floor.

“It’s yoga, Sunggyu. It’s not too difficult.”

“I’m guessing it took you years to learn?”

Woohyun nodded. “I had a personal trainer for years, but I had to cut that out of my schedule when I started work. You should try it.”

“I don’t like to sweat.”

“You should try some exercise. It will relieve some of the stress of being a high-powered attorney.”

“I know a number of very good massage therapists,” retorted Sunggyu. “I keep myself free of stress.”

“Whatever you say,” Woohyun answered. He stood up to grab his towel from a nearby chair, damping the sweat on his face and neck as he looked at Sunggyu. “If you ask me, somebody seems a little grumpy.”

Sunggyu’s eyes remained narrow and he had a small frown on his face, but he managed to remain calm. 

“Tell me if you can take over the case,” he said, turning away from Woohyun.

“When is the case up for summary judgement?” Woohyun asked, putting his towel behind his head.

“In two days. And Woohyun? Hit the showers before you get back to work. I don’t want to smell you all the way in my office,” Sunggyu said, leaving before Woohyun could answer.

 _If only he had stayed a bit longer_ , Woohyun thought. _I had the perfect comeback._

—

“All rise. Department 10 is now in session. The Honorable Judge Kim Hyeonok is now presiding,” the bailiff announced, as Woohyun took his seat at the plaintiff’s table. 

The judge, a bespectacled woman in her late 60s, took her seat at the bench before looking at the motions before her. She turned to look at Woohyun first.

“I remember Choi Hyechan from the Ministry of Justice arguing on behalf of the defendants, but I don’t think I recognize you,” she said. She scratched her head, with a bemused expression. “Or at least, I don’t recognize you as being on this case.”

“I’m Nam Woohyun from the SLG firm. Kim Sunggyu was representing the plaintiffs in earlier proceedings, but I took over the case from him two days ago,” Woohyun answered.

“Nam Woohyun?” She said, with slight wonder in her voice. “ _That_ Nam Woohyun?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Woohyun responded, though he guessed he knew exactly what she meant.

“Are you the second son of President Lee Soonho, and husband of Representative Lee Sungyeol?” The judge asked.

“That is me,” Woohyun said with a forced smile, causing the judge to nod again in interest.

“Very well. Tell your mother I said hello.”

Woohyun gave a curt smile. “Of course I will.” He had no particular intention of doing so.

“Are you seeking to continue the proceedings till another time?” The judge asked.

“I’m not, Your Honor. I already told opposing counsel that I was going to oppose their motion to dismiss right here today,” Woohyun said. He straightened the jacket of his suit for good measure.

“Okay, and Attorney Choi, you brought this motion and you’re present, so I’m not going to give you any time for delay,” the judge said, addressing the defense attorney who was seated across from Woohyun.

“Of course not,” she answered, turning to look at Woohyun with a smug expression.

“Alright, Attorney Choi. Please argue why I should dismiss the case,” started the judge, pointing to the defense counsel.

“Thank you, Your Honor. The case here involves five citizens of the country suing the Minister of Interior and several high-level police officials. The plaintiffs are arguing the seven defendants violated their rights by failing to adequately train and supervise police officers, causing the police officers to apply inappropriate amounts of force in arresting the plaintiffs,” she said, looking only at the judge and not at Woohyun. “The problem lies in the mens rea. The plaintiffs are alleging a civil rights violation. However, the mental state requires that the Minister and police were not just negligent in training, but that the lack of training rose to the level of deliberate indifference. The plaintiffs have not brought any evidence to show that each of the defendants was deliberately indifferent. The suit must fail.”

“I’ll let the adversarial system do its work,” Judge Kim said, turning to Woohyun. “And you, Attorney Nam? Why shouldn’t I dismiss the case?”

“We believe the case should at least go before a jury. The five plaintiffs were all harshly beaten while being arrested by the National Police Agency while peacefully protesting, and in fact a separate suit has been filed against the individual police officers for a violation of the plaintiffs’ civil rights. The plaintiffs assert that the Minister’s policies, which state that the National Police Agency can use force against a person who is resisting arrest, is too vague and grants individual officers the authority to determine when a person is resisting arrest. That includes the cases here, where the plaintiffs were not being violent,” Woohyun answered, reciting his argument mostly from memory.

“How were the plaintiffs resisting arrest?” The judge asked, with a slightly amused expression.

“They were placed under arrest in a protest near Changdong’s city hall. After being arrested, they refused to move from the spot. The police responded by savagely beating them,” said Woohyun.

“Your Honor, opposing counsel leaves out the critical details that the plaintiffs were all standing near the city hall, in the major intersection in front of the building, and had blocked all traffic leading in and out of city hall for two days,” retorted Attorney Choi. “And we dispute the characterization that the police savagely beat the plaintiffs. None of them sought medical attention until they had been in police custody for a full day.”

“The plaintiffs didn’t seek custody because first, they did not know they would remain in custody for so long, and second, because they did not trust the men who beat them to provide them with medical attention,” said Woohyun, answering back. “This is exactly the type of disputed fact that a jury is tasked with deciding.”

“None of this is helpful to me,” Judge Kim said. “It’s true that the jury as the decider of fact should determine if the plaintiffs were beaten, but even a severe beating by the officers does not necessarily rise to the level of deliberate indifference by the Minister.”

“We can show deliberate indifference, because the Ministry of the Interior and the National Police Agency have received repeated complaints alleging unnecessary force. During discovery, we even discovered a memo from the Ministry of Justice to the Ministry of the Interior requesting that the latter clarify its use-of-force policies,” answered Woohyun.

“Can you show that the Minister or the other defendants actually received these complaints or read this memo?” The judge said, skeptically.

“We think that at trial, the jury should decide if the Minister read and ignored these complaints,” Woohyun said.

“And we disagree,” Attorney Choi answered. “The deliberate indifference standard requires that the plaintiffs prove more than that. The plaintiffs need to show the Ministry desired this increase in unlawful police violence. If the plaintiffs can only show that the Minister was negligent, they should have filed a negligence lawsuit under section 483, instead of a civil rights claim under section 909(a).”

“The Ministry revised its policies three years ago. One year later, at the time my clients were beaten, the Ministry had received 50% more complaints than compared to the two years before the revision. The policies have remained unchanged to this day, even though complaints have increased every year since then,” Woohyun pointed out. 

“That increase can be tied to legitimate police interests,” Attorney Choi said, by now sounding more irritated than she had before. “Before the revision, the police avoided the use of force at the cost of permitting unlawful behavior. Before the revision, for example, the plaintiffs could have blocked an intersection indefinitely without little fear of being removed.”

“That sounds exactly like the Minister tolerated the rise in complaints, as part of a policy to increase arrests,” Woohyun reasoned. “I think opposing counsel’s statement should count as an admission.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Attorney Nam. I think Attorney Choi is bringing up a valid point. It’s not enough that the amount of police violence increased. It must also have been unlawful violence as well. Additionally, can you show that the complaints about police violence correspond to an increase in unlawful behavior? Or are the additional complaints groundless?” The judge said, browsing through the papers before her.

“We don’t have that information, but we can point to an increase in the National Police Agency’s reprimands against its officers. If the increase in force is legitimate, then the police would not need additional discipline.”

The judge looked at the two attorneys before letting her eyes linger on the papers before her. She made some notes to herself before looking back at Attorney Choi.

“Attorney Choi. Do you have any solid proof that none of the defendants looked at the number of complaints or the memo from the Ministry of Justice?” Judge Kim asked.

Attorney Choi shook her head. “We do not, Your Honor.”

“Do you have any solid proof that the defendants did not know about the increase in reprimands?” She continued.

The attorney shook her head again. “We do not.”

“Closing remarks from either attorney?” The judge asked, looking at the two lawyers before her.

“We can show more than negligence needed under 483,” Woohyun started. “We can show that the defendants violated the national constitution with this harmful policy, which gives us remedies under 909(a).”

“The plaintiffs are only arguing that the Minister and the police should have enacted a better policy. This does not give rise to deliberate indifference,” said Attorney Choi.

The judge hummed for a second. “I’ll look at the law again and decide.”

The courtroom was silent for about ten minutes. The judge spent the time reading on her computer as well as browsing through the voluminous documents before her. After scribbling some more notes down, she made her decision.

“I’ve looked at the law, and I agree with Lawyer Nam. There is a legitimate question of fact. Based on the police complaints, the police reprimands, and the memo, the jury must decide whether the Minister and the police were deliberately indifferent by enacting the use-of-force policy. The motion for summary judgment is denied,” she said. She banged on her gavel once. “We’ll take a ten minute recess.”

Woohyun and Attorney Choi exited at the same time. The other attorney had an amused expression on her face as she turned towards Woohyun.

“You seemed very interesting in defending the case,” she said with an unkind smirk.

“Is that a surprise?” Woohyun answered. The other attorney was standing too close to him, and managed to keep up with his walking pace despite Woohyun’s longer strides.

“Kim Sunggyu didn’t seem interested in the case,” she answered. “He expected to lose. It’s why he never talked to me about settlement.”

Woohyun stopped walking, and paused. Sunggyu had been so certain that the case would be dismissed, and Woohyun realized he had no idea what he was supposed to do if he won the argument.

“I’m open to an offer,” he said, now turning to make sure nobody at the courthouse was standing too close to him.

“We’ll pay for the plaintiff’s medical bills, and an additional lump sum equal to two years of their salaries, to account for their lost productivity. But the Ministry’s policies stay in place,” she offered.

“Those policies violated constitutional rights,” Woohyun objected. “They allow the police to use unprecedented levels of force.”

“Spare me the righteous indignation,” said Attorney Choi with the arrogant tone that Woohyun now associated with her. “SLG won’t earn a dime if you lose. Are you confident that you’ll win at trial? Your law firm stands to earn a considerable amount of money if the case settles, but if you lose at trial, you’ll be poorer for it.”

Woohyun let the thought sink in.

“And what would my clients risk if they’re beaten by the police again?” Woohyun said, rhetorically.

“ _If_ your clients have ever been beaten, then they should learn their lessons,” Attorney Choi said.

She walked off before turning around one last time. “This offer will last only three days.” And then she departed. 

—

“We shouldn’t settle,” Woohyun argued. He was seated across from Sunggyu as the two of them ate takeout for lunch.

“I think we should,” Sunggyu answered with a bite of food. “Do you want to go to court arguing that the Minister of the Interior desired to increase police brutality? It’s a very high standard to meet, and we’ve just been offered enough money to pay our clients’ medical bills and get them a considerable amount of money. I’m thankful that you won the argument, but this is not a case we’ll win at trial.”

“No, Sunggyu. The police will continue to brutalize other protesters until either a lawsuit or legislation changes something. If we want to make a lasting difference, we need to go to trial. We can publicize our case, and we can put pressure on the police. If we just accept money, this case of police brutality will just be covered up like every other beating,” Woohyun said.

“This case is not the end of the litigation. We’re still suing the police officers who beat our clients. That will be plenty of publicity. When we go to trial on that case, we’ll have additional pressure. When we emerge from that case with a multi-million dollar verdict, the police will likely be forced to change their policies. We should reserve our strength for the strongest case,” Sunggyu said. “This is my decision as your mentor. You will tell the clients that they should take the settlement.”

“Do you even want to win this case?” Woohyun snapped, hotly. “Ever since I’ve gotten this case, I’ve felt that you want this case to lose so that you’ll have less work to do.”

_Thud!_

Woohyun turned to see Sunggyu had struck the table with the base of his fork.

“Say that again, Lawyer Nam,” Sunggyu said, becoming suddenly formal and looking intimidating. Woohyun could feel anger emanating from the other man, a feeling he knew very well.

Woohyun straightened his back to keep looking at Sunggyu. “I said. Are you trying to win this case?”

“Yes,” said Sunggyu through gritted teeth. “And I will not have a first-year attorney questioning my judgment whether this case can be won. You’ve spent ten years as a house husband. You’ve handled less than a dozen cases. You have had a very good two months here, but you do not have enough experience to call yourself a good lawyer. After we graduated from law school you never made the law your career. You do not know what it means to be a lawyer.”

Woohyun felt himself taken aback, knowing he had touched upon a sensitive subject. He could have objected in various ways, emphasizing his own intelligence. Yet he knew that he could score no victories here, especially when he should defer to his office senior.

“I understand,” Woohyun said, now backing down. “And if I still disagree?” 

“You can discuss it with Attorney Lim,” Sunggyu said, relaxing his anger just slightly, as he reclined in his chair.

“Not Attorney Gil?”

“No, because Attorney Lim does much more of the plaintiff-side work. Besides, Attorney Gil will only agree with her.”

The two of them paused.

“I’ll tell the clients about what you recommend, and I’ll give them my own recommendation.”

“No, Woohyun, I gave you an order.”

Woohyun felt himself sulking, as he looked Sunggyu in the eye, but acknowledged the other man’s determination.

“I’ll talk with Attorney Gil first.”

—

“And what happened after that?” Sungyeol asked. It was just Sungyeol and Woohyun present in Sungyeol’s apartment, eating dinner that Woohyun had cooked. The younger man sat across from Woohyun, careful not to make physical contact. Their relationship had not yet reconciled to that point, even if Woohyun was now willing to return to Sungyeol’s physical presence.

“Attorney Gil approved of Sunggyu’s idea. I didn’t even tell her whether it was my idea or Sunggyu’s. Either way, she said it was a wonderful idea,” Woohyun answered. He had already finished, blaming a lack of appetite, though Sungyeol kept ravenously devouring the food before him.

“And what did you do then?” Sungyeol asked before taking another bite of food.

“I told the clients that we approved of the settlement, and they accepted the next day,” Woohyun said. He took a sip of whiskey, but he lacked much of the desire to drink.

“I think your argument is better for the client,” said Sungyeol, putting down his bowl and reverting to his customary prosecutor behavior. “The police had no right to beat your clients, and they’ll keep beating others. I know your clients had medical bills to pay, but they wanted to change something, right? That’s why they were protesting. Now that they’ve settled, they’ll need to rely totally on their other lawsuit to try to change the police policy. I think Sunggyu and Attorney Gil were wrong.” He paused for a second to grab his own cup of liquor. “But from a business perspective, Sunggyu and Attorney Gil need to be paid. They have their own good reasons. But you’re still right.”

Woohyun gave a small smile at Sungyeol’s reassurance. “I’m glad you think the same way.”

“And Sunggyu? How did he react? Did he gloat?”

Woohyun shook his head. “Not verbally. You should have seen the look he gave me, though.”

It was Sungyeol’s turn to nod. “I can imagine the look on his face. It’s not awkward working with Sunggyu, is it? I know the two of you had some bad history when the two of you dated.”

“It’s not very awkward. We don’t talk about our past, but I can’t say he’s not interested in me.”

“Which one of you ended the relationship?”

“I did.”

Woohyun drank again, humming to himself lightly.

“I remember it was an ugly breakup,” Sungyeol said, eyes lingering on his empty plate.

“Your memory’s right,” Woohyun responded, a few seconds later. He grabbed the plates from the table, returning them to the kitchen to wash them later, to end the conversation.

As he left, he heard Sungyeol give a soft sigh of relief.


	6. Actual cause

The banquet Woohyun was attending was a relatively quiet and subdued affair. It was his first large social gathering in several months, and Woohyun considered himself fortunate that he had the opportunity to brood by himself at the hotel bar.

“It’s rare for me to see you by yourself, Nam Woohyun,” rasped the gravelly voice behind him, interrupting Woohyun’s thoughts.

Woohyun turned around to see who at the banquet had called to him, not realizing who was speaking. As soon as he turned around, he saw a short, heavyset woman with a glass of liquor in hand, looking towards him with an unamused expression. He put down his drink on the counter of the hotel bar and gave a short bow.

“Representative Choi,” he said, now looking at the older woman. “I have not seen you in a few years.”

His memory was coming back to him. The first time he ever saw the politician, the woman had stood before him with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other.

“Not since your husband’s election. I don’t see him here,” she said, before clearing phlegm from her throat in an audible manner that made Woohyun cringe inside.

“He wasn’t invited,” deadpanned Woohyun honestly. “You should know why.”

“It’s a shame about the case. Completely politically motivated. It’s too sad,” continued the Representative, setting her own glass on the table. She barked the word “Whiskey” to the barman before turning back towards Woohyun. “I like Sungyeol, and I would have liked to see the two of you together here. ”

Woohyun wanted to express agreement, because he completely believed that the statement was true, but something inside him made him reluctant to voice his support for Sungyeol in public, even weeks after that preliminary hearing and despite all of the political maneuvering he had done for his husband. Additionally, he did not know this woman well, despite his political connections. He gave a noncommittal hum at her statement instead. As Representative Choi began sipping at her filled glass, Representative Yoo made her appearance, suddenly appearing behind Woohyun’s shoulder.

“I agree with that statement too. Nam Woohyun here is so different when he’s by himself,” she said, holding a flute of champagne in her hand. She turned to the two hotel barmen with an insincere smile. “Could the three of us have some space?”

Woohyun had the sudden, lurching feeling that these two members of the ruling party’s Supreme Council had deliberately cornered him when he was least prepared. The banquet was held to celebrate the 60th birthday of a very important judge, and Woohyun expected many politicians in attendance. But he did not expect to be confronted.

Representative Yoo quickly dropped her smile, giving off a hostile glance, forcing Woohyun to rapidly think on his feet about how to approach these two politicians. Choi was uncouth, with a crass reputation, whereas Yoo was genteel and urbane. Yoo, however, was somebody he knew well, and she was the one he turned his attention towards.

“Representative Yoo,” he said, trying to be publicly polite. “It is good to see you again. I didn’t expect to see two members of the Supreme Council here today.”

“Only Representative Choi here was invited. She tipped me off after she saw your name on the RSVP list,” answered Representative Yoo.

“I’m happy to see you both,” Woohyun responded, though the flicker of disbelief across Representative Yoo’s face told him what she thought of his answer.

“I’ve had more chances to talk to you than I’ve had to talk to your husband,” she said with a smirk. “I always get directed towards voicemail when I call him, and he’s never in his office when I drop by.”

“I can tell Lee Howon about your issues,” Woohyun answered demurely.

“I’ve talked to Howon,” she said, snapping slightly. “I have half a mind to blame Howon, because none of the messages I leave for your husband seem to reach him.”

“Let’s leave aside the campaign manager for now,” said Choi from Woohyun’s other side. “We came to talk to _you_ , but we won’t be unhappy if you passed along a few messages yourself.”

Woohyun nodded, silently.

“You’re up to date on your husband’s case, correct?” Yoo started. 

Woohyun nodded. “Everyday I check for news. I still talk to him, and I’ve been in frequent contact with his lawyer, Attorney Seo.”

“You’re not living with him, right? Our sources have been whispering things,” continued Yoo.

If Representative Choi had asked the question, Woohyun might have politely declined to answer the question. However, there were two important politicians before him, one of whom was a close political ally of his family. He answered.

“No, we’re not.”

“You know the case against your husband is weak, right?” Yoo switched quickly to another topic.

“It is,” Woohyun answered.

“It’s weak, but not nothing,” said Choi. “I’d be wary of overconfidence.”

Woohyun continued to nod. “I know all of this. I don’t need to hear this.”

“But Sungyeol does,” Choi smirked. “He can’t act like he’s untouchable. We’ve got some news that you need to hear. Our sources in the Justice Ministry have heard rumors that soon, the government will be taking actions against senior figures in the opposition camp.”

Woohyun briefly wondered if this was related to the incriminating evidence that the ruling party had leaked to the media. He had barely succeeded in convincing the ruling party to release that information, and perhaps the gambit paid off. He did not ask.

“We don’t know who, and we don’t know when, but you don’t need a law degree to realize what it means,” Yoo said, in a low whisper. “If opposition lawmakers are arrested, whether or not they resign or get convicted, that means—”

“Sungyeol becomes less important. Even if he resigns and his seat is taken by the opposition, the ruling party retains their majority,” Woohyun answered, instantly realizing the meaning of their statements. “There would be less need for the party to protect him.”

“Exactly,” Choi said, speaking between sips of her drink. “You need to get it through Sungyeol’s thick skull that he will no longer be the tipping point of the legislature that he used to be. In fact—”

“You think he should resign,” Woohyun answered, thinking ahead. “The ruling party’s poll numbers drop a point every time the whore in Sungyeol’s trial opens her mouth, and you don’t want that weight around your neck until the trial’s over.”

“Or the appeals,” Yoo said begrudgingly. “This isn’t a case that will clear up with a verdict. It won’t even end, even if Sungyeol is sitting in a prison cell. But the rest of us need to think and consider the best interests of our party.”

Something inside Woohyun began to stir. The same reluctance which had marked him earlier seemed to fade as quickly as he formulated his thoughts.

“If you think you can persuade me to abandon Sungyeol—”

“We don’t expect that,” Choi said, interjecting. “Word of your little stunt with Representatives Yoo and Hong has spread throughout the party. We know you’re going to fight for him, right or wrong.”

“But there are different ways of fighting, Nam Woohyun,” pleaded Yoo. “Don’t think of resignation as a loss. It can be an attack through a different front.”

“I won’t let that happen,” he answered. “Sungyeol isn’t corrupt. I’m not going to let him go down in flames because you’re worried about poll numbers.”

Yoo gave a small frown while furrowing her brow, and Choi only smirked. “And how do you know that?” The latter said, slightly amused at Woohyun’s reaction.

“Because he told me,” Woohyun answered, looking the politician in the eye. “Sungyeol told me that the only mistake he ever made was to cheat on me. He hasn’t done anything illegal.”

“You believe him?” Representative Yoo asked, clearly appearing unhappy.

“I believe him,” Woohyun answered her. “I know him, and in his heart he’s a good person.”

There was a pause, and a furious exchange of glances between the two politicians. After a few tense moments, Choi looked down at her drink.

“My glass is empty,” she said, and left, not bothering to excuse herself. 

It was just Woohyun and Representative Yoo sitting there, in tense silence for a few moments.

“Woohyun, how long have I known your family?” She asked, breaking the silence before sipping at her glass of wine.

“Since you graduated from college,” he answered, coolly, “when my father gave you your first job as a prosecutor.”

“You remember well. And I’ve done a lot for your family. Politics is the art of being reciprocal. So you should understand that I care for your family when I ask you for some help,” she said, trying to make her tone gentler.

“You care for my parents. Not me, and not Sungyeol.”

The woman shrank back somewhat, shaking her head. “It’s hard to untangle allegiances with a family as powerful as yours. What you and Sungyeol do reflect on your parents, and the reverse is also true. Woohyun, as a family friend of your parents, you should consider what I have to say. You and Sungyeol are in your 30s. In a legislature with more than a few octogenarians, you two should consider yourself infants. Who knows where your political ambitions might reach, if Sungyeol decided to resign today?”

“Sungyeol will be disgraced if he resigns. He loses incumbency he can’t regain,” Woohyun answered. “Even if he gets acquitted, he might never recover. His career will end the moment he steps down, and the only time you will hear about him is when late-night comics joke about his ruined career.”

“And I think you are wrong and should reconsider,” Yoo said with a small sigh.

Woohyun did not answer. Yoo was silent for a minute, and then pursed her lips. “I’m going to leave now. But just remember, Woohyun. If I give you advice, it’s not because I want to harm you.”

She left, but Woohyun did not. He remained seated only for the short period of time it took him to finish his drink. And then he left, returning home to tell Sungyeol about all that he had heard.

—

Woohyun rubbed his eyes and yawned. It was 6:30 in the morning, and he had just finished reading the transcripts of a dozen depositions. All of the depositions dealt exclusively with chemistry and the Reinergen case. When Sunggyu told him about unrelated work he could do, Woohyun leapt at the opportunity.

“I’m not tossing this case on you because I don’t want it,” Sunggyu started.

“And do you want it?” Woohyun answered. Even this early in the morning, all of the other attorneys were already present in the office.

“No, but that’s not the point.”

“Okay, and what is it?”

“It’s an appeal,” Sunggyu explained. “Lim Jinsol represented a client two years ago for a case of distributing narcotics. The client was convicted, and Attorney Lim handed me the case for appeal.”

Woohyun nodded. “I didn’t know Attorney Lim handled criminal cases.”

“She doesn’t, anymore. The money’s not there,” Sunggyu answered before explaining. “I drafted all of the motions and pleadings for the appeal, and I was scheduled for oral argument in two weeks before a panel of judges. I want you to do the argument.”

Woohyun stared, in surprise. “You want me to get ready for an oral argument in two weeks? That leaves me with almost no time to prepare. I would need more time than that.”

Sunggyu looked despondent. “Please, Woohyun. I’ll do everything I can to make sure you’re ready. I’ll explain everything about the case with you day and night until you go before the judges. Besides, my sources tell me that judges schedule oral arguments as courtesies, and most of the time they’ve made up their mind based on the papers submitted.”

“Why can’t you handle the case to completion? How long have you had it?”

“It’s been a year, but I just discovered the composition of my panel thirty minutes ago. I can’t go before these judges. I argued a case before two of them last year, and they really do not want to see me,” Sunggyu said, looking embarrassed. When Woohyun examined Sunggyu closely, he saw something akin to shame. Something deeper than mere inconvenience.

“Who are the judges?”

“The circuit judges are Won Joonbum and Oh Moonsook, with district judge Yeom Doeun sitting by designation,” Sunggyu explained. “You have some connection with them, right? Two out of three of them were appointed by the President.”

Woohyun recalled that even during the two years that they had dated, Sunggyu had never referred to Woohyun’s parents by anything other than government office. It was never “your mother” or “your father,” but always “the President” or “the Minister.”

“I argued one case before Judge Yeom, but I don’t know her personally,” Woohyun answered, trying to recall the names. “I’ve also played golf with my father and Judge Won several times, but this was years ago. And I’ve never met Judge Oh, ever.”

“But the circuit judges were appointed by the President,” Sunggyu said, stressing this fact. “They’ll be sympathetic to the son of the person who put them into power.”

“This must have been almost twenty years ago,” Woohyun said, in disbelief. “You’re the veteran attorney. You should know that judges aren’t easily swayed.”

“I know, and I want to win this case. Look, Woohyun, I know Judge Yeom is going to rule against us because she’s blatantly pro-prosecution, and judges Won and Oh are likely to be on the fence because they’re moderates. I want to put a face before them that they don’t actually despise.”

It was unusual, to Woohyun’s ears, for Sunggyu to ask for help. It was not like the other case that Sunggyu had assigned him, where Sunggyu pushed his extra work onto Woohyun. This case sounded like Sunggyu needed his help, and had nowhere else to go.

“You can’t ask anybody else to handle this case? In case you forgot, this is my first year here. We have experienced appellate lawyers.”

“None of them have two weeks to dedicate themselves to my case. Besides, the Reinergen litigation is proceeding at a snail’s pace. And I won’t just push this case onto you and expect you to pick up where I left off. I’ll be with you every step of the way. I’ll really be your mentor,” Sunggyu said, still sounding desperate.

“Attorney Gil approves?”

“I won’t tell her why I don’t want to take the case. You’ll tell her that you want to get started with appeals experience,” Sunggyu said, sounding relieved. It took a second for Woohyun to realize that Sunggyu had read _him._ Was he really so transparent, Woohyun thought of himself, about his desire to get Attorney Gil’s approval?

“And does the client approve?”

“I’ve talked to him about this. He approved everything beforehand.”

Woohyun took that to mean that Sunggyu had considered asking for help for quite some time, but had only set things in motion when he received final word about the selection of judges.

“I’ll talk to the client myself and then the two of us will talk to him, and then I’ll decide to take the case,” Woohyun said cautiously.

Sunggyu exhaled loudly in relief. “Thank you so much, Woohyun. I haven’t taken you out for lunch or dinner at a nice restaurant in all the time you’ve been here. We’ve just had takeout. I promise you I’ll treat you to a nice meal now, and again when this is all over.”

The older man turned slightly red as Woohyun fixed his eyes on him. Sunggyu cleared his throat after some uncertainty, and straightened his back.

“As mentor and trainee,” Sunggyu said, asserting himself. “Not friends.”

Woohyun leaned back and laughed. “You already know all of my favorite places.”

Sunggyu nodded, sticking his chin out with confidence. “It’ll be like old times. Law school, again.”

—

It took only two days for Woohyun to learn the facts of the case with Sunggyu’s assistance. It took another two days for Woohyun to meet the person appealing, who was surnamed Jeon, at the jail in Changdong. Afterwards, Woohyun managed to rapidly read through the papers submitted before the court of appeals through the weekend. He began the Monday of the next week preparing for his oral argument.

It also took that week for Sunggyu to get lunch reservations at the upscale Japanese restaurant two blocks away from the SLG office.

“This is normal, right?” Woohyun asked with a laugh as he seated himself. A waiter handed the two men their menus, but Sunggyu had already mentioned what he wanted to eat earlier. “Ending a relationship on bad terms and then meeting up with your ex-boyfriend for a nice lunch ten years later?”

“I thought we were here to discuss work,” Sunggyu said, face darkening.

“And I’ve already gotten most of the case ready. It’s simple, really. Our client, Mr. Jeon, sold heroin to the victim, Ms. So. The victim took a combination of lethal narcotics, including the heroin, and died. The government charged our client with lethal distribution of narcotics, but at trial, could not produce evidence that the heroin was what killed her. Instead, our client was convicted on the grounds that the heroin _contributed_ to the overdose and the victim’s death. On appeal, we argue that the court erred because it didn’t look at responsibility,” Woohyun answered, rapidly listing Sunggyu’s argument.

Sunggyu nodded, impressed with Woohyun as well as his contribution to preparing the other man.

“The other lawyer there will be Jo Seungdae. Don’t worry about him or his argument. You’ll want to watch how the judges react to him. I’m betting that Judge Yeom will only ask him softball questions, so if she doesn’t throw him a lifeline, you’ll know you’re winning the argument.”

It was Woohyun’s turn to nod. “You have experience with the other judges? What exactly did you do before judges Won and Oh?”

Sunggyu hedged his answer, to produce a vague response. “I wrecked any goodwill with them during my last oral argument before the two of them. They don’t want to see me again. Believe me.”

Woohyun decided that sufficed as an explanation and changed topic. He looked down at his menu. “I’m thinking of sushi.”

“You can get anything you want, Woohyun. I’m treating you.”

“ _Anything._ ”

Sunggyu looked at Woohyun with an amused expression. “Anything on the menu, Woohyun. Don’t be clever and say ‘I want you, Sunggyu’ or anything like that.”

“It was the furthest thing on my mind.”

There was a pause as Sunggyu looked at the menu to see if anything changed his mind, but nothing did.

When the waiter emerged, Sunggyu and Woohyun made their orders. Woohyun ordered various types of nigiri sushi while Sunggyu chose maki sushi. They split a bottle of sake and a plate of potstickers.

“Old times, right?” Woohyun said while waiting for their food.

“Talking about our work over lunch,” Sunggyu said wistfully, “then going back and preparing for our arguments for our competitions. We made a good team.”

“We won three competitions in two years. You and me.”

“And Sungyeol later,” Sunggyu added quietly.

Woohyun took a second to stare at Sunggyu, trying to suss out the man’s feelings underneath somewhat ambiguous demeanor.

“Sungyeol was really smart. Do you remember his class rank compared to yours?”

“He was smart but he didn’t study,” Sunggyu answered. “I’m pretty sure his class rank was nothing special.”

“You’re right. I don’t know it myself.”

“Does he treat you well?” Sunggyu asked, and Woohyun could sense the hesitation in the other man’s question. Woohyun pondered that question for another second, unsure of the immediate answer, so he responded with his own question.

“Are you jealous?”

“No!” Sunggyu said hotly as he heard the question, turning slightly red in the process.

Rather than continue to pry, Woohyun went to answer Sunggyu’s question in the vaguest manner that he could comfortably describe.

“My life with Sungyeol these past ten years has been a good one,” Woohyun answered in the most affirmative way possible, without actually addressing the question.

“I see him on television all the time. And usually not in a positive way. Are you okay with that?”

“Every relationship has its ups and downs. Sometimes, relationships have more of one than the other.”

“And with Sungyeol?”

“More ups.”

“That’s good to hear. How would you describe us, when we were still together?”

Woohyun pursed his lips, gave a small but sad smile, and answered while looking Sunggyu in the eye. “We had some very dark times between us. The issues were mutual. I don’t want to dwell in the past, but our relationship was not going to work if we tried to stay together.”

“That’s how you remember it,” Sunggyu said. Though it seemed a question, his tone was flat.

“We broke up because of deep-rooted issues. As I remember it, I wanted our relationship to change, and you didn’t want to,” Woohyun said, less sad than before.

“You were the one that chose to end the relationship,” Sunggyu answered, still monotone.

“Yes, but I would not say I was the cause of the breakup either,” Woohyun said, now looking at his lap.

“You said it yourself. The issues were mutual.”

“Not the final issue.”

The two of them paused, and Woohyun wondered if the two of them were going to start arguing again, after just getting to know each other after almost ten years.

In the end, it was Sunggyu who backed down.

“It was over a decade ago. I agree we should mutually put it behind us. It hasn’t gotten in the way of us working together these past two months, so it shouldn’t be an obstacle in the future.”

“I think I can. I think I already have.” 

Woohyun said those words while earnestly believing them, even while he wondered whether he was lying to himself.

“Any residual feelings between us would make things awkward for us. I’ve been with SLG for almost ten years. I want to stay here. I’ve been made a partner. A junior partner, to be sure, but I still get to attend all of the meetings with the rest of the partners. I still can’t believe that I was hired by Lim Jinsol after my first two jobs didn’t work out, and now I sit next to her when all of the partners meet.”

Woohyun nodded in agreement. “I could be there with you in a few years.”

“Changdong is a good city,” Sunggyu mused. The waiter at that time arrived, leaving behind a bottle of sake and two cups. 

“Do I serve you or do you serve me?” Woohyun asked. “I’m younger than you.”

“I’m treating you.”

“You’re my boss.”

“Not officially.”

“No, Sunggyu, let me do this,” Woohyun answered. He grabbed the bottle from the table, and opening it. Sunggyu duly held his cup with two hands for Woohyun to fill the cup. He took a sip and put the cup down.

Woohyun poured himself a cup as well, raising the cup. The two of them clinked their glasses.

“To ten future years at SLG,” said Woohyun, laughing.

“Wonderful,” Sunggyu answered.

They drank, and their food arrived shortly later.

—

Woohyun was taking a small gulp of water and was fixing his hair when the bailiff announced that the judges were entering. He instantly stood to attention as the two women and one man walked into the courtroom. The most senior of the three judges, Judge Oh, took the center seat as presiding judge. Judge Won sat farther away from Woohyun, on the left, and Judge Yeom took the seat closer to Woohyun on the right.

After the bailiff called out the case, the presiding judge began speaking.

“I see Attorney Jo Seungdae here on behalf of the Prosecutor-General. And I expected Attorney Kim Sunggyu to be here today on behalf of the appellant.”

Woohyun stood up to address the judges. “I’m Attorney Nam Woohyun, representing the appellant. Attorney Kim was unable to make it to oral argument. Because he asked me, I am filling for him instead.” The statement was mostly true, depending on how fine a line was drawn between ‘unwilling’ and ‘unable.’ Woohyun did not press the matter, nor did the judges seem to care.

“As long as your client doesn’t mind,” said the presiding judge, looking uninterested. “We will now begin oral arguments. Attorney Nam, you may proceed.”

Woohyun took another gulp of water and walked up to the podium to begin speaking.

“May it please the court,” began Woohyun. “The appellant Jeon was convicted at trial for distribution of deadly narcotics, under section 298(d)(2). At the close of trial, the appellant asked for a directed verdict of not-guilty on the grounds that the prosecution failed to show actual causation between the appellant’s narcotics and the death of the victim, Ms. So. The judge rejected the motion. The defense asked for jury instructions on actual causation, and the judge also rejected these. The jury returned a guilty verdict after deliberations. The case must be reversed and remanded because the judge rejected the actual causation test and applied a significant contribution test.”

“The actual causation test requires but-for causation. Under the text of 298(d)(2), a narcotic is considered deadly only if death ‘results from’ the use of the narcotic. At trial, both the defendant’s expert and the prosecution’s expert testified that Ms. So died from a drug overdose that involved cocaine, alcohol, heroin, and methamphetamine. The appellant only sold the heroin at issue here. Trial testimony specifically discounted the possibility that he sold the victim any cocaine or methamphetamine. Both expert witnesses agreed that this toxic drug cocktail stopped the victim’s heart and was responsible for her death. However, none of the experts could testify that it was Jeon’s heroin that was specifically responsible for her death. Both experts also agreed that the toxic combination of cocaine, alcohol, and methamphetamine could have been responsible for her death, whether or not heroin was present. Therefore, as a matter of law, the court could not have convicted the appellant for distributing deadly narcotics without evidence that his drugs were responsible for death.”

It was judge Yeom who spoke up first, with her predictably hostile critique. “I know (d)(2) says ‘results from.’ What’s wrong with the government’s position that the drug cocktail and subsequent overdose was a result from the appellant’s narcotics distribution? As I read the statute, the death needs to follow the use. There’s nothing about how the death results.”

“That’s true, Your Honor,” Woohyun answered, trying to think of a way to answer. “But that would bring up proximate cause issues that were not briefed before the court.”

“How so? And we’ll understand that we didn’t ask for any briefing on the issue,” interjected the judge on Woohyun’s left, Judge Won.

“Under (d)(2), death must result from the use of narcotics. If the victim had abused the narcotics in this case, began driving a car, and committed a vehicular manslaughter while under the influence, the deadly narcotics statute could be plausibly read to include the sale. However, that would raise the same but-for causation issue, because the prosecution would need to establish that but for the heroin, there would be no crash. And then the prosecution would need to establish that the heroin was a proximate cause as well. But that issue is not before the court. May I continue?” Woohyun answered.

“You may,” answered the judge on the left, though Judge Yeom had an irritated expression that suggested she wanted to press the issue further.

“The statute never defines what types of death result from narcotics use. If we look at the precedent under the Court of Appeals for the Western Circuit, common law principles of statutory interpretation require but-for causation over a significant contribution analysis.”

“What would be the common law definition of a ‘result,’ and how could it differ from any other definition?” It was the judge in the center, Judge Oh, who asked this question.

“Common law principles of statutory interpretation require us to use the plain language of the statute. The plain language of the word ‘result’ requires a cause, not a contribution,” said Woohyun.

“In other words, the outcome of the case depends on what the word ‘result’ means,” commented Judge Won.

“It does, and using the plain language interpretation of this word would fit within the precedent of the court. In the appellant’s brief, we cited the cases of Nuri Medical as an example. There, the court interpreted ‘result’ in the firing of a disabled worker. There, the disability was not considered the actual cause, because the worker would have been fired regardless of his disability. The worker there argued that he should have been protected under discrimination laws because disability was one of the reasons for his firing, but the court ruled that his disability was only one of several factors, and was not necessarily the actual cause.”

“That was under common law principles or specifically employment law principles?” It was Judge Oh.

“Common law principles,” Woohyun answered, “which would logically be applied here.”

“But,” interjected Judge Yeom, “298(d)(2) exists in a specific statutory framework. It was passed to combat the scourge of drug epidemics which currently devastate inner cities and rural towns alike. It’s not unreasonable to think that the National Assembly intended to combat all effects of deadly narcotics, not just those related to direct effects from abuse. The legislature surely had in mind the fact that drug abusers often consume various types of drugs in various quantities, leading to these lethal overdoses. Here, in this case, the heroin formed part of the combination.”

“You’re exactly right, Your Honor, regarding the National Assembly’s awareness. If they had in mind the goal of addressing the drug epidemic, the presumption is that the legislature would have added language to that effect. They would have defined the word ‘result’ in a manner that encompasses as much narcotic usage as possible,” Woohyun explained. He knew his following argument would only be persuasive to Judge Yeom, who seemed more interested in the history of the statute than the plain language.

“Here, their omission of any explanatory language should be read to mean that the National Assembly was aware that some drug usage is a but-for cause of death, and that the legislature only intended to punish those cases. If the National Assembly intended to punish all cases where a person sold drugs that were then used in a lethal combination, regardless of whether that drug was responsible for death or not, the legislators should have worded (d)(2) differently. Instead, we have a statutory provision addressing drug use that results in death.”

“How would you address the government’s argument,” interrupted Judge Won, “on page 20 of their brief. They used a baseball analogy: if you’re at bat for the Changdong Falcons during the championship finals, and you hit a homerun, so your team wins the game 3-0, and your win should be considered a result of your point.”

Woohyun tried his best to be disarmingly friendly. “My Changdong Falcons couldn’t reach the finals even if we talked hypothetically.”

Judge Won gave a snort of laughter and the presiding judge gave a chuckle too.

He continued his explanation. “The end result of the game, the 3-0 score, is certainly a result of the point, but it’s not a but-for cause, and it’s not a but-for cause of the victory. Somebody else could have scored my point, or nobody could have scored my point. The point is not a but-for cause, because the Falcons would have won anyways, by at least 2-0.”

“In our case, the appellant’s sale of heroin was a but-for cause of that same heroin being found in Ms. So’s bloodstream. However, (d)(2) does not prohibit the sale of narcotics that find their way into a person who died of unrelated reasons. It only punishes the sale of narcotics that actually cause a person’s death.”

“One last question,” and it was Judge Oh. “How do you address the government’s contention that your interpretation narrows down the category of people for punishment?”

“I disagree with that, Your Honor,” said Woohyun with finality. “Under my interpretation, the statute only punishes those that it intends to punish.”

At that point, he looked down at the clock on the podium. His time had just run out. “I see my time has ended. May I conclude?”

“Be quick,” the presiding judge answered, but Woohyun knew she had already made up her mind.

“The appellant seeks reversal of his conviction because 298(d)(2) only punishes those who sell deadly narcotics. Because there is no evidence that the appellant sold the drugs that actually caused a death, his conviction must be reversed.”

“Thank you, counsel,” said the presiding judge. “We’ll now hear from the government.”

Woohyun walked back to his seat. When the government attorney argued, Woohyun watched for the next half hour as the three judges battered the government lawyer on all sides, raising almost exactly all of the same issues that they had thrown at him. He declined to give a rebuttal because of how methodically the judges demolished the government’s argument.

Four days later, the clerk of the court posted the court opinion online. Woohyun was ecstatic.

“We won!” He said, bursting into Sunggyu’s office where the other man was typing at his computer.

“We did?” Sunggyu said, amazed. 

“Yes,” Woohyun said, giddy. “It’s a 3-0 decision reversing the lower court. The decision was written by Judge Yeom, and she destroyed the government’s argument. The case is reversed, and I know the government will offer us a new deal. Instead of looking at 10 years, he’ll be getting a maximum of three. With time served, he might be out in a year.”

“3-0. Do you think your oral argument was the actual cause, or would you have won anyways, 2-1?”

Woohyun gave a laugh and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“This is great!” Sunggyu said, continuing. Turning to Woohyun, he continued his rapid speaking. “It’s almost lunch right now. I’m going to treat you to the best meal I can afford. We won!”

As Sunggyu turned his back to Woohyun, a flicker of hesitation and realization broke across Woohyun’s face.

 _Jeon sold drugs, and he’s getting out far earlier now, most likely to continue his business again,_ Woohyun thought. _That’s a win for me, but is that a win for anybody else?_

His thoughts were interrupted shortly later as Sunggyu lead him out of the office. Sunggyu was putting on his coat as he looked at Woohyun again.

“We’ve worked together for months now,” Sunggyu said, now assertive. “I think you should come to my house after work so we can keep talking.”

“I’ve delayed a lot of work for the Reinergen case already,” said Woohyun hesitantly. “I should stay at the office and work.”

“One night won’t hurt,” Sunggyu said, scoffing.

Woohyun nodded in agreement, and the two of them left together.


	7. Exigent circumstances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I had my reasons. Anyways, don't be afraid to leave constructive criticism as comments, because I won't know what readers want unless you tell me.

It had been years since Sunggyu had last invited him to his house, Woohyun thought, and this new place was what Woohyun had expected to see. Sunggyu’s apartment was clean, upscale, and lifeless. The rooms were austere, bare, and sparsely decorated.

“It’s a lot like my college dorm, don’t you think?” Sunggyu said offhandedly as he welcomed Woohyun into his house.

Woohyun nodded. “I barely remember the first time I was in your dorm. I remember the other times, though. I spent so many nights there that people thought I lived with you.”

Sunggyu gave a small look of surprise. “You don’t remember that time?”

Woohyun rolled his eyes. “We were on your bed as soon as we got past the door, and you kicked me out as soon as you threw away the condom,” he answered with a smirk.

Sunggyu’s neck flushed red and he looked away. Woohyun watched as Sunggyu’s eyes flickered half in anger and half in guilt, but said nothing in response.

“It was a long time ago,” Sunggyu answered. “And I made it up to you when we dated.”

“No.”

Woohyun’s tone was flat, and he spoke barely above a whisper, but he made himself heard. The harshness of the response caused Sunggyu to physically jerk up to look at Sunggyu. The older man’s initial reaction was one of hurt, but a wave of guilt flickered across his face as he failed to make eye contact. Woohyun saw Sunggyu clench his teeth in a pained manner, before the taller man took a deep breath to look Woohyun in the eyes again.

“What do you mean by that, Woohyun?”

“What I mean,” Woohyun said, as deep and long-held memories took hold again, “is that I regret dating you. You did me wrong.” His eyes remained locked on Sunggyu’s face, which was now shaping into a blank expression. It was a look that Woohyun had seen many times. Too many times, in fact, for Woohyun to continue their relationship. Just for a second, to get away from that infuriating look, Woohyun took a breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he could see Sunggyu looking hurt. Every second seemed to feature a new emotion on Sunggyu’s face.

“Woohyun, I was a kid then, and it was over ten years ago. You were the son of the President, for crying out loud,” said Sunggyu, looking helpless. “It was an immense, different pressure back then. You traveled around with bodyguards. Paparazzi stalked your every move when you traveled to class. When I went with you to the karaoke bars, there would be photos of you posted online within an hour. Every time I saw you, I was jealous and scared of the spotlight that shone on you every hour of every day.” Sunggyu was pleading now, and Woohyun wanted to stop listening and close off his heart. Sunggyu had begged so many times for forgiveness, and those promises had been worthless.

“That doesn’t excuse what you did to me,” Woohyun answered, but Sunggyu was wearing him down. He was looking outside the window, at the river that flowed through Changdong, instead of meeting Sunggyu’s eyes.

“No, it doesn’t, but it explains what I did. I’ve begged for your forgiveness a hundred times, and even after we broke up, I still wished that our relationship could have worked.”

“Kim Sunggyu,” Woohyun said, being as formal and distant as he could. “You had your chance twelve years ago. I’m married now, and I’m not going to run back into your arms. I want our relationship to be purely professional.”

“To Lee Sungyeol,” Sunggyu snapped, raising his voice for the first time. “Do you know how many whores he’s fucked! And not just the ones that the prosecutors are saying in court! How can you stay with him when he used you and publicly humiliated you? Everybody in the country knows he’s cheated on you, behind your back. He only married you for your last name, and then he started screwing whores behind your back. You don’t even have the sense to leave him.”

Woohyun could have slapped Sunggyu right there. Or he could have left Sunggyu’s apartment and pretended that none of this happened. But he didn’t, and he turned to Sunggyu while summoning as much venom in his glare as he could.

“Sungyeol hurt me, but I love him, and I chose him. I do _not_ want to hear you criticize my husband in front of me, ever again,” Woohyun said, on the verge of spitting right there. Sunggyu shrank back just for a second, and Woohyun could feel the taller man’s anger emanating in waves.

And then Sunggyu regained his nerve. The man stood up straight and gave a nod. Though he did not apologize, his body language seemed conciliatory.

“You’re right,” he said. “We’re now both lawyers, and I’m supposed to supervise you.” Sunggyu closed his eyes for a long, drawn-out pause, before he opened them again and his usual demeanor returned. “Let’s just move on, at least for today.”

Woohyun knew from Sunggyu’s tone that the older man would bring this up at some point again, but he was tired of fighting. He did want to talk to this man, not about business like the way they usually spent their lunches together, but just to catch up. Sunggyu had been his friend, once, even if dating destroyed their relationship.

Woohyun nodded. “Let’s order some food and talk over some beers.”

Sunggyu nodded gratefully, and Woohyun made himself seated on one of the Italian leather sofas. When Sunggyu returned from the kitchen, he brought two cans of some foreign import for the two of them. The two of them sipped in methodical silence opposite from one another for a few minutes, before Woohyun took the initiative to start talking.

“So,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant. “Are you seeing anybody right now?”

Sunggyu scratched the back of his head nervously. “Not for lack of trying. You know Cheon Jaehee, don’t you?”

Woohyun nodded. “I defended our domestic violence case against her. She’s really tall.”

“I went on two dates with her after your trial ended. She’s nice, but she’s young. It also didn’t help that she kept talking about you during our dates,” Sunggyu said while looking embarrassed. “I sent her a text after our latest date saying things were not going to work out between us, and I think she understood.”

“And have you kept up with the rest of our friends? I haven’t heard much of you from Sungyeol or Myungsoo or Sungjong until I started working at SLG.”

Sunggyu shook his head. “You only see the nice mellow Gil Seonhee of today. She worked me to death when I was still at Handeok. Shin Moonjoo, Lim Jinsol, and Gil Seonhee were absolute taskmasters before they formed SLG. I didn’t have time for a relationship or friends. But now I’m more senior, and I can take time off for myself.”

Woohyun gave a laugh. “You seem to respect our firm’s senior partners.”

“Mainly just Lim Jinsol,” Sunggyu said, wrinkling his nose. “Shin Moonjoo and Gil Seonhee are both fine legal minds, but they’ve stopped bringing in profits.”

“Are all of the firm’s junior partners so opinionated, or is it just you?”

“SLG isn’t a firm where the name partners are semi-retired ornaments. They’re the backbone of the company,” said Sunggyu warily. “Of course, what I said was just between us, right?”

Woohyun grinned. “I’m a lawyer, you know.” 

Sunggyu gave a sigh. Their food arrived shortly later, which the two of them devoured, and both of them were soon on their second can of beer.

“Some days, I just want to call sick and spend a nice day doing yoga,” Woohyun griped, before finishing his beer and opening up a third can.

“You probably could,” said Sunggyu. “You are the son of a dearly-beloved President. Can you imagine the pressure that the senior partners are feeling? You could stop showing up to work and the partners might still keep you.”

Woohyun took offense at that statement. “I wasn’t given this job just because of my connections or my looks. I’m more than qualified to be a first-year associate. I’m smart enough for this job.”

Sunggyu heard the edge in Woohyun’s voice and nodded. “I wasn’t suggesting nepotism. I’ve worked with you, and I think you’re fine. Besides,” and his voice grew grave. “You come from a political family. You know that sometimes the smartest people use their minds for corrupt purposes.”

For just a fraction of a second, an image of Sungyeol flashed through Woohyun’s mind. _Sungyeol, standing next to him at their university graduation ceremony, standing in his black graduation gown, smiling at Woohyun with those bright eyes and clean teeth. And then Sungyeol’s mouth on Woohyun’s own, in front of the cameras and an entire stadium full of people._ And then the flashback was gone as soon as it began.

Woohyun set down his drink before he continued. He recovered quickly, even if Sunggyu sensed momentary weakness.

“SLG is defending against a few corruption cases too,” he said, and Sunggyu nodded vigorously.

“Yes, political corruption cases are Gil Seonhee’s favorite. She should be handing you full cases soon, not just partial appeals or retrials.” Sunggyu’s answer told Woohyun that Sunggyu had not noticed that Woohyun had lost his composure.

“I still have the Reinergen cases,” protested Woohyun. “Those are going to take forever.”

“We’ll drag those out, I think,” Sunggyu said hesitantly. “You’ll have time for other cases. Speaking of work, we should probably get to sleep soon.”

Woohyun agreed and tried to excuse himself shortly thereafter. But Sunggyu tried to make Woohyun stay.

“It’s a long drive back, and you have nobody at home waiting for you.”

Woohyun thought of his house, with its warm colors and its fastidiously selected furniture and even the two live-in maids. It was, in Woohyun’s eyes, completely empty 

But he had spent enough time here. He quietly excused himself and returned home.

Once home, he spent the better part of an hour laying in bed with his cellphone in his hand. He was sure Sungyeol would have picked up if he called, and he had already called his husband earlier that day. It would have been easy to say a few words.

But he didn’t. Woohyun set the phone aside, and fell into a restless sleep full of dreams he did not remember.

 

—

 

“I think you should be able to handle this case.”

Woohyun turned around to see the short figure of Gil Seonhee before him. The older woman had a set of papers in hand, presenting them to Woohyun. Woohyun instantly stood up to receive the papers with a bow. 

“Of course, Attorney Gil. What is this about?” Woohyun asked, though he already suspected he was being assigned a case.

“Just a minor criminal case. It’s a misdemeanor charge of driving while intoxicated. One of my friends has a friend whose husband was arrested, and now he’s our client. I skimmed over the police report, and I think it’s winnable. Do you want to take the case? Because I have a mound of discovery material from the Reinergen case that I could assign to you instead,” she said, with a warm chuckle.

Woohyun gave a smile as well, as he took the papers. “I’d love to take the case. Is everything I need in these files?”

Attorney Gil nodded. “Yes, and the client is downstairs as well.”

After Gil Seonhee left, Woohyun left his office to go to the SLG lobby. Seated in an armchair was a balding, middle-aged man with a sour expression on his face. Woohyun went to him and introduced himself as Nam Woohyun, the SLG attorney assigned to represent his case. Woohyun walked the man back to his office, and began reading the case files while the man introduced himself.

The client’s surname was Ahn. He was hot-tempered, Woohyun quickly concluded, and would require skillful client management.

“This is the case,” said the client, beginning to gesture with his hands. “I go to this party, in Ingsan. It’s my wife’s brother’s birthday, and there’s some alcohol that’s flowing. I have an argument with my wife, and she decides that I should stop drinking. I agree, but the night is young, and I still want something else. So I get in the car, leaving behind my wife and my brother-in-law, and I start driving. I don’t even get three blocks away when I see the red and blue lights flash behind me. And this policeman comes, and he demands license and registration. I give it to him, and he asks me if I’ve been drinking. I tell him, absolutely, but I’m definitely capable of driving. So he makes me step outside the car, and walk in the straight line. I failed, for God knows what reason, and he tells me to get in the police car.”

The client’s voice only grew louder, and his gestures more inarticulate, as he elaborated on his story. Woohyun took notes as he listened, even while suspecting that there was more to the story.

“The policeman takes me to a local hospital and tells me I need to get my blood drawn. I tell him that he can come back with a warrant. He says he doesn’t care. So the lab technician sticks the needle in my arm and takes my blood. I don’t know what the blood alcohol percentage was, but it was enough for the policeman to arrest me. I’m furious. I’ve never committed any crime that justifies this treatment. The police had no right. They need a warrant, right?”

The client stared at Woohyun with furious, squinting eyes. Woohyun gave a nod to try to accommodate him. “Yes, Mr. Ahn, the police probably needed a warrant, but I’ll need to check the law to be absolutely sure. I’ll need a day or two to research the law. Can you come back in two days?”

The client continued staring. “Why did they assign me to you, and not somebody famous. Why couldn’t I get Lim Jinsol? It’s SLG, not … what did you say your last name was? Nam? It’s not SNG on the front door.”

Woohyun gave a forced smile. “Attorney Lim is busy at this time. But I’m more than capable of representing your case.”

The client gave a grumpy harrumph and crossed his arm. “Who will talk with me about payment?”

“That will be paralegal I share with the other first-year associates.” Woohyun wanted to sigh. The client had not yet worn him out, but he knew the client could soon.

“Fine. I’ll be back in two days. And I’m not paying a cent unless you win.” The client stormed off before Woohyun could remind him that the law firm only operated on a retainer.

After the man left, Woohyun had the time to read the case files, the police report, and the relevant legal materials. After a day of researching, drafting memoranda to his bosses, and writing notes to himself, he felt that he had enough material to go the prosecutor’s office and start discussing the case.

He gave an interested chuckle as he turned over the last page of the case file and read the name of the prosecuting attorney: Cheon Jaehee.

 

-

 

“Your case is weak, you know,” said Woohyun, taking a sip of tea as he stared at the prosecutor. Cheon’s office was smaller than his office at SLG, even though the prosecutor had several years of seniority. Woohyun was unable to see the walls because stacks of papers and boxes were thickly clustered along the sides of the room.

“Better prosecutors have lost stronger cases, and worse prosecutors have won weaker cases,” she said. She set down her own cup of tea. “This is a case I can win.”

“There was no warrant. The blood test is going to get tossed out of court, and then you’re going to argue a DWI based on what? The fact that he stumbled when he walked?” Woohyun asked rhetorically, raising an eyebrow.

“He drove on the sidewalk for a block, in the wrong direction on a one-way street. And don’t be so cocky about the blood test. The officer didn’t need a warrant. If your client didn’t submit to a blood test, then valuable evidence would have been destroyed,” said the prosecutor, looking somewhat amused.

“Destroyed by what?” Woohyun scoffed. “Destroyed by biology? Besides nobody was hurt.”

“Somebody could have been hurt,” snapped the prosecutor. “Your client’s blood alcohol level was almost twice the legal limit. If I waited for every DWI to turn into a vehicular homicide, there’d be bodies on the streets.”

“But nobody was hurt. It would help me and you if I could tell my client tomorrow that the prosecutors are willing to drop the DWI charge if he fulfills some part of a bargain. Do you want him to do volunteer hours? Or attend certain classes or workshops?”

The prosecutor shook her head. “He’s been convicted before, and this isn’t the first time he’s risked another person’s safety.”

If Woohyun hadn’t been a first-year associate, he would have rolled his eyes at that statement. “He was convicted of distributing adulterated foods, and that was over ten years ago,” he said, slightly exasperated. “You’re not arguing he’s a harmful driver based on an old conviction that has nothing to do with the vehicular code, are you?”

“Neither of these are harmless crimes, Attorney Nam, and I think the prosecutor’s office needs to send a message to these types of criminals who routinely flout the law. I can make a deal, but only if your client serves a few weeks in jail. Maybe a few months. And don’t count on him keeping his license either.”

Woohyun pursed his lips. “This is harsh for a first-time driving offense.”

“I’ve accepted plea deals for too many DWIs. Now I want to take them to trial and send a message. Remember, litigation is more costly for your client than it is for me. Maybe your client would rather take the plea and save money,” said Cheon, now sitting back in her chair. She was young, Woohyun thought, definitely younger than he was. She did not seem to have cocky by nature, but she was acting extremely confident in this case.

Woohyun paused to calculate something reasonable in his head. “The county jail. Every other weekend. Ten days total, and his license is suspended.”

“A month in the county jail, served all at once,” said Cheon. “And just remember that the consequences are going to be more serious if he takes this to trial.”

 

—

 

Woohyun was not surprised that his client wanted to take the case to trial rather than admit guilt. So he politely sent an email to Cheon Jaehee explaining that his client wanted to prove his innocence in a court of law. Before the case even went to trial, Woohyun filed a motion with the Changdong District Court to exclude the blood test from being entered into evidence. Prosecutor Cheon unsurprisingly opposed the motion, which brought the two attorneys to court today.

The judge today presiding Department 10 was Yoon Sangjeong. She was one of the country’s older judges, in her early 80s, but her mind remained sharp, and she had a reputation as a forceful judge. She would be the one hearing Woohyun’s case.

Woohyun sat calmly at the defendant’s table with his client by his side. They stood on cue when the judge entered, looking briefly at Prosecutor Cheon at the table across from him.

“This is the preliminary hearing in case number DW-0001-20, Prosecutor-General versus Ahn Kicheol. Do we have representations?” The judge began speaking, looking at the two attorneys before her.

“Nam Woohyun on behalf of Ahn Kicheol, who is present and out of custody,” began Woohyun.

“Cheon Jaehee on behalf of the Prosecutor-General,” said Cheon, in a polite and soft voice.

“Have the parties reached any sort of agreement or deal at this time?” The judge asked, looking first at the prosecutor and then at Woohyun.

“No, Your Honor. We can go straight to the pleading,” said Cheon.

“Then we will. Attorney Nam, to the misdemeanor charge of violating Title 28, section 10, driving while intoxicated, how does your client plead?” The judge asked. 

“Not guilty, Your Honor,” Woohyun answered.

“Does the Prosecutor-General seek custody?” Continued Judge Yoon.

“Yes, Your Honor. The defendant has a prior criminal record, and has been convicted before of a felony. Also, the prosecution would like to send a strong message that it will no longer turn a blind eye towards DWI offenses. We seek detention,” said Cheon.

“Your Honor,” protested Woohyun in a quieter voice. “This is excessive because this is a misdemeanor DWI, and my client has been charged with his first-ever vehicular offense. He should remain free on his own recognizance.” 

“I agree with Attorney Nam. I know that County is overcrowded,” said the judge, referring to the county jail, “and I’m not sending people there for a minor DWI. The defendant will be free until trial, but I want him present at every court proceeding.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” said Woohyun.

“Now, Attorney Nam, I’ve received your motion to suppress the results of the blood test as well as the prosecution’s motion in opposition,” she said. “I’m not yet inclined to make a ruling at this time. I’d like to hear from you first.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” said Woohyun again, now standing. “We seek to suppress the results of the blood test as a violation of Article X, Section 2 of the Constitution, guaranteeing every citizen the freedom from unreasonable search-and-seizure. Article X says that every search requires a warrant issued on the basis of probable cause, unless a reasonable exception applies. Here, the police had no warrant when they drew my client’s blood, and no reasonable exception applies. Therefore, the search violated the Constitution. As part of a long line of cases, starting from Prosecutor v. Kim, 1970, and Prosecutor v. Kwon, 1972, the Supreme Court has said that searches in violation of the Constitution are not admissible in criminal courts of law.”

The judge gave a nod while narrowing her eyes. “I skimmed over the motions. I don’t remember everything, but was the defendant arrested before the blood test or afterwards? It could be a search incident to arrest.”

“The defendant was already under arrest at the time of the blood test, but the prosecution has only argued that the search was permissible under the exigent circumstances exception,” Woohyun pointed out. “The prosecution has not argued that this was a search incident to arrest.”

“It doesn’t matter what the prosecution has or hasn’t argued,” said the judge, in an ice-cold voice. “The court always has the option of granting or denying a motion on alternate grounds. Tell me again, why isn’t this a search incident to arrest?”

“Because the prosecution would be bootstrapping their way to a search. There wasn’t enough probable cause for the arresting officer to make the arrest in the first place. The police report has nothing about whether my client appeared physically intoxicated. The blood test after the arrest cannot form the probable cause for the arrest that preceded it.”

“Prosecutor Cheon?” The judge looked uninterested in what Woohyun had to say, and Woohyun was taking that to be a bad sign.

“Your Honor, we’re not going to say whether the search was valid incident to arrest when there’s a clear exception allowed under exigent circumstances. The time and delay necessary in getting a warrant would have destroyed evidence, you see. The natural dissipation of alcohol is by definition an emergency. If the police didn’t get the blood test right then and there, the defendant’s body would have metabolized the alcohol and prevented us from obtaining an accurate reading of his blood alcohol percentage,” she said, with a cool confidence that Woohyun suspected he would need.

“Why couldn’t the police get a warrant?” The judge asked.

“It would have taken time, time that the policeman did not have, when he could drive right down the street to the hospital.” She said, standing up.

“How much time, Prosecutor Cheon?”

“I couldn’t give a specific time.”

“But surely, you could try?” The judge said, and her tone suggested to Woohyun that she was equally disinclined toward the prosecution.

“It could have taken an hour or so,” Prosecutor Cheon said, voice slightly squirming.

“What time was the arrest?”

“7:30 PM.”

“That’s ridiculously early, Prosecutor Cheon. I don’t even leave my office till eight. Would it really be that difficult for your office to call a prosecutor to fax over a warrant? I’ve seen some of those warrants from your office. They’re boilerplate. You just fill in blanks,” scoffed the judge.

“Perhaps it would not have taken an hour,” conceded the prosecutor.

“You can be quite sure of that,” said the judge, coldly.

“But it would still be a delay, and under the Supreme Court’s jurisprudence, it’s not a reasonable delay. I can point to Prosecutor v. Choi and In re Kong, both from last year, where the Supreme Court held that breath tests for alcohol were permitted without a warrant,” started Cheon. 

“But those cases were breath tests, which invoke substantially less privacy rights. My client received a blood test, so the state’s interest in enforcing the law must be balanced against my client’s fundamental right to privacy and bodily integrity,” Woohyun jumped in. “Both of the cases that Prosecutor Cheon cited explicitly limited their holdings to breath tests alone. Here, the police put a needle inside my client’s body.”

“The reasoning behind those cases is the same as here: the prosecution has an interest in preventing destruction of evidence,” said Cheon, now turning to Woohyun instead of the judge. “I don’t even need to cite a case for the proposition that the police don’t need a search warrant when a suspect is destroying evidence.”

“When a suspect is intentionally destroying evidence,” retorted Woohyun, standing up as well. “Alcohol dissipates naturally. My client didn’t choose what his liver would do.”

“That’s enough, Attorney Nam, Prosecutor Cheon,” said the judge, raising a hand. Her lips were pursed and her eyes furrowed. “Please speak in turn before I eject one or both of you from the courtroom.”

The two attorneys mumbled their apologies as they took their seats.

“Prosecutor Cheon, how often does the police administer blood tests?”

“Not often, Your Honor. Usually when there’s a reason that a breath test would not work.”

“And what was the reason here?”

The prosecutor gave an embarrassed pause, and Woohyun’s hopes were temporarily lifted.

“The officer’s breathalyzer ran out of battery.”

The judge scoffed again. “And have the police ever obtained a warrant before getting a blood test?”

“I’m sure they have.”

“How long did that take them?”

“I don’t know.”

The judge turned briefly to Woohyun. “Do you have anything more you’d like to add?”

“Just that there are no exigent circumstances that justified the state’s intrusion into my client’s body,” Woohyun said, quickly, trying to get his point in.

“And I agree with Attorney Nam here. Prosecutor Cheon, tell the police officers that they need to bring backup batteries with them, or get a warrant if necessary. The defendant wasn’t arrested at midnight, or some other unholy hour when a judge should be getting a good night’s rest. He was arrested in the early evening. The blood test was unreasonably obtrusive when balanced against both the defendant’s privacy interests as well as the convenience of getting a warrant. The blood test is out.”

Woohyun quickly stood up to speak as soon as the judge finished talking. “Your Honor, then, in the absence of the blood test, the prosecution’s remaining evidence is legally insufficient for a conviction. We ask that the charge be dismissed in its entirety.”

“And what say you, Prosecutor Cheon?” The judge was looking at the frowning attorney.

“We think that if the police officer was available to testify, he could speak regarding the defendant’s appearance and therefore demonstrate that the defendant was intoxicated,” protested the attorney.

“And that may be the case, if the police report suggested as such. But it doesn’t, and the legal evidence before this court is insufficient. The charges are dismissed, without prejudice. Prosecutor Cheon, you can refile the charges at a later time when you have the testimony of the police officer. We are adjourned.” The judge banged her gavel once, and called the next case.

 

—

 

“Congratulations on your first victory,” Sunggyu said, clinking his bottle of beer against Woohyun’s can.

“It wasn’t much. The prosecution’s not going to refile the charges, and I had a long talk with my client about the dangers of drinking and driving in the future,” said Woohyun, before taking a long sip.

It was late in the office, and evening had fallen. Woohyun’s papers were spread in front of his desk.

“But this case was a softball,” Sunggyu said. “I was at the partners’ meeting today. We’re going to plunge back into the Reinergen case. You did good work on the class-action aspect, and the senior partners have a good impression of you. They want you to get further involved.”

“That sounds exciting,” Woohyun said.

“But,” said Sunggyu, leaning in towards Woohyun and becoming quieter, “I think it’s getting political. I think they want you to use your connections with Sungyeol.”

“Who does? All three partners?”

“I don’t know. But Lim Jinsol is talking with regulators in a week. She hinted as much to me that she’d be glad if you talked to Sungyeol about this.”

Woohyun frowned. “Influence-peddling is illegal.”

Sunggyu sighed. “Yes, but you’re a lawyer, right? Can’t you see what you can do, legally?”

Woohyun cast his eyes down. He had used his own political connections before, and he’d be dishonest with himself if he ever pretended otherwise. But those times were to save Sungyeol. Why exactly should he stick his neck out for a client? Reinergen was hardly helpless. Besides, things were different in this country now: the old networks of favors and gift-giving had largely crumbled, even if they hadn’t disappeared. 

“I won’t. I won’t, especially because you’d turn around and accuse Sungyeol of impropriety,” Woohyun said. “My family is still popular nowadays because our reputation is impeccable. I won’t jeopardize myself, my husband, or my family.”

Sunggyu gave a sigh. “I think you’re naive." 

“And I think you’re cynical for thinking that this country has the same corruption as it did fifty years ago.”

Sunggyu clenched his teeth before answering. “I think it’d be better for you if you were wrong. It would improve your job performance.”

It was Woohyun’s turn to sigh. “And maybe you’d be right.”

But either way made no difference to Woohyun. He left the office shortly thereafter, returning home to call Sungyeol.


	8. Right of custody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank all of the readers for their support. As I've mentioned, don't be afraid to give feedback about what you want to see or what you don't like about this story. All feedback is welcomed, though I won't guarantee that I'll write more or faster if readers ask for more updates.
> 
> Another note: this chapter mentions actual law. However, this story is meant to be purely for entertainment and has no informational value. If the story makes you interested in law, that's good. But don't use this story to try to learn anything about the law.

“You won a case?” Sungyeol’s tone was exhilarated and breathless, Woohyun could tell, even through the phone. “Congratulations! Now once you start building up your record you can go toe-to-toe with Gil Seonhee and Lim Jinsol. I knew you could do amazing things.”

Woohyun wondered if Sungyeol could hear the sound of blushing from through the telephone. “It was a misdemeanor. A DWI. You can barely call that winning.”

“I handled a few of those too, back when I just started. My bosses started giving me violent felonies within nine months of getting the job, but I had to stand in front of the court and talk about blood alcohol levels once too. Who was the judge? Who was the prosecutor? Do I know these people? Have I argued before or against them?”

“Forget them, Sungyeol. What’s been going on with you? What about your trial?” Woohyun asked, his voice concerned. It had been three, maybe already four months since the two of them started living apart, but Woohyun was still concerned about Sungyeol’s trial. Sungyeol was his husband, after all, and the threat of jail time hung over their heads as a distant threat.

“It’s good, or at least it should be. Attorney Seo has a motion to dismiss before Judge Kwak. She’ll be arguing it with the prosecutor in a few days. Speaking of that, Woohyun, I’m going to make that court appearance, and I was hoping you could show up in person. For support. Myungsoo already told me that he was going to be there, and Howon wants to be there too, but I don’t know if I should allow him to appear with me. What do you think?” Sungyeol’s voice remained excited, and hopeful, with just a tinge of caution at the very edges.

Woohyun hesitated. “It’s just a hearing, isn’t it?”

That second of pause carried more weight than the meaning of Woohyun’s words. Sungyeol stammered an answer in response. “I mean, if you’re busy, or you really don’t want to show up, I completely understand. But this is what political spouses do, right? They show up to their wife or husband’s trials, right?”

Woohyun chewed his lip for a second, and remained silent. Sungyeol’s voice grew more concerned as he continued speaking.

“Woohyun, really, you’re not doubting me, are you? I told you, I haven’t done anything wrong. This trial is a farce,” Sungyeol protested, his voice growing panicky but not loud.

“Sungyeol.”

“Yes?” The way the other man’s voice hitched was so familiar to Woohyun that he could not help but sigh to himself.

“I’ll be there.” Woohyun heard an immediate sigh of relief from Sungyeol even as he continued speaking. “But what good will it do? What’s the evidence the prosecution is presenting, and what evidence are you bringing out in response? You know how the legal system works. Just pointing to the prosecution’s evidence and saying it isn’t enough to convict … that might work in some cases, but is that the legal strategy you want to pick?”

Sungyeol also paused, taking time to think of a response.

“It might be, Woohyun. The prosecution’s case is weak, both in law and evidence. I mean, they have witnesses, the prostitutes, but they’re overreaching in all other aspects. They’re saying I broke the law by concealing that relationship, and I’ve abused the powers of my office, and that I’ve obstructed justice. But I didn’t do any of those things,” said Sungyeol, now adamant and confident as usual. 

And Woohyun found it easy to believe him. It was hard to contemplate the opposite: that the man he loved, the man who had supported him through his darkest times, and the man he swore to love and cherish for life, had succumbed to greed. Sungyeol and Woohyun both had a taste for the fine things in life, but they lived within their means. They were on the brink of paying off the house that Woohyun now lived in, alone, but they were otherwise free of debt. These allegations couldn’t be true, Woohyun thought. None of the corruption charges alleged that Sungyeol personally enriched himself. The charges all said that Sungyeol used money in pursuit of his dalliances.

But Sungyeol had succumbed to something else. Sungyeol had said that he only needed one person in his life, hadn’t he? And that wasn’t true at all. 

Maybe, Woohyun wondered, that was his fault. But what could he have done instead? Wasn’t it enough that he woke up in the morning to cook breakfast for Sungyeol before the other man rose, and that he was waiting in their living room so he could greet Sungyeol the second the man arrived home? Could it have been, Woohyun thought absurdly, that Sungyeol wasn’t physically satisfied no matter how many times Woohyun offered his body? What should he have done?

“Woohyun, are you there?” Sungyeol’s voice was soft, but it was enough to jolt him out of his thoughts.

“I’m here. I’m just thinking that maybe I should talk with your attorneys to make sure they don’t mess up anything. Attorney Seo walked into a complete ambush at that preliminary hearing,” Woohyun said flatly.

This time it was Sungyeol that paused.

“I know you want an explanation for that,” Sungyeol mumbled. “About those other prostitutes.”

Woohyun gave a hum in agreement. “I still do, Sungyeol, but not like this, over the phone. Tell me in person. Anyways, Sungyeol, how was your day?”

Sungyeol gave a short laugh before he answered. “It was good, good. I attended a meeting of the Assembly’s subcommittee on environmental issues, but there were no cameras in the room, so everybody present had a nice calm discussion instead of our usual theatrics. At least I got to sit next to your favorite legislator, Representative Yoo, who looks as sharp as ever. It’s getting lonely over here though. I bought groceries earlier, and there’s only Myungsoo and Howon over here to enjoy it with me. Are you sure you don’t want to come over to Haseong and enjoy this with me?”

Woohyun was alone then, in their empty house, as was the usual case these nights. If he was to have company, it would be outside this house.

“I don’t think so, Sungyeol. Enjoy your night. Tell Howon and Myungsoo that I said hello.”

Sungyeol said something in the affirmative, and Woohyun hung up the telephone. And instead he turned to the papers he had left, strewn across his bed. He had his own career to think about now, and his newest case needed resolution soon.

 

—

 

“You were remarkably quick in getting caught up on this case,” said Gil Seonhee, smiling as she looked over Woohyun’s memo. “I agree with your analysis. We probably won’t win this case. But I still want you to talk to the client and let him know gently. It’s going to be difficult, after all. He’s probably going to lose custody of his son and all.”

Woohyun nodded. “I still have an argument I can make a before a court. There’s no unanimous consensus regarding a right of custody.”

Attorney Gil gave a sympathetic nod. “I’m aware. I’ve read your memo, but you even admitted it’s a difficult argument. There’s a growing international consensus if you look at the various national court decisions, even if there’s some disagreement. But go tell your client. I don’t think I’ll do anything here other than agree with you.”

Woohyun nodded and headed to his office, where the client was waiting for him.

The client was a broad-shouldered and heavy-set man a few years older than Woohyun, named Yeon Hyungsang. His look was anxious, and he stood up in greeting when Woohyun entered.

“Attorney Nam, I wanted to ask you about my case,” he said. “You said you would tell me about my chances of keeping custody of my son. What are they?”

“Sit down, Mr. Yeon,” Woohyun said with a sigh, before turning towards his client. “I won’t sugarcoat the truth. The court will likely order that your child be sent back to your ex-wife.”

“I don’t get it. I came here with my son from Japan because I didn’t want his mother to have custody of him, and now you’re saying the courts in this country are going to hand him over?” The client said, agitated. “This doesn’t make sense.”

Woohyun gave another sigh. “Sir, you flew with your child here, after the two of you had been living in Japan, in violation of an order from a Japanese court saying you couldn’t take your child here unless you had your ex-wife’s permission. You chose to bring your son here anyways. That makes your case an international child abduction.”

“That’s ridiculous. I had full custody of my son. All she had were visitation rights.”

“That’s partly true, and it’s one of the factors that support your legal argument. But your ex-wife also had another right, the ne exeat right, which said you needed to get her permission before you could take your son out of Japan. As a result, your ex-wife had a right under international law. The courts will likely order the compulsory return of your son back to Japan.”

“There’s nothing you can do, really?”

“As I said before, Mr. Yeon, we have an argument that the ne exeat right isn’t a right of custody, and that your son doesn’t need to be returned to Japan. But it’s a weak argument, and it’s been rejected by courts in other countries,” Woohyun said, trying to be sympathetic. “I’m sorry, but the law is leaning against you. You’re free to return to Japan too, and I don’t know the law in Japan, but I can’t imagine you’d retain custody. It’s just the truth.”

The client gave a pained groan and put a hand to his forehead. “I came here because I thought I was going to be able to keep him. I had full custody. Now I’m losing a child.”

“Sir, you’re not losing a child. You’re just losing custody.”

“That’s almost the same thing. Attorney Nam, do you have children of your own?” The man said, eyes raised in hostility.

“No. My partner and I haven’t had the time,” Woohyun answered. It was already more information that he would have preferred to divulge.

“So you don’t know what this feels like, do you?” The man said, in vehemence.

Woohyun’s face tightened without becoming being sympathetic. “I know what it’s like to have marriage difficulties, but I haven’t been divorced. I don’t know exactly what you’re going through, but I have some ideas.”

“No, you can’t have any idea,” the man answered vehemently. “When you have a person that you thought you utterly loved, and then you come back home, and you just look at her and realize you married a different person, and there’s a woman in your wife’s skin, and she’s standing there feeding your child. You don’t know what it’s like.”

For just a second, Woohyun was silent, too lost in his own thoughts to continue, and his face was completely blank. But then he recovered again.

“No, I don’t know what it’s like. I’ve never gone through that,” he answered softly.

“It’s the worst feeling,” said the man in anger. “I thought the world of her, but she changed. She wasn’t the same person. But we already had a child together, so what was I going to do? I persisted for another year, but things only got worse.”

“It must have been a difficult time.” Another flat answer.

The client sighed. “I did some things to her I’m not proud to admit, and I know I hurt her, but things were just so difficult. I lost my job, I started drinking, and she kept trying to put this wall up between me and my son. And then the divorce came, and there was so much pain, and I was so glad I retained custody, but then she begins hiring her lawyers. Before I know it, I’m on the verge of losing custody. Can anybody blame me for taking my son with me back to my hometown here?”

Woohyun shook his head. “I don’t blame you, Mr. Yeon, but I deal with the law. Feelings rarely, if ever, come into the law. You felt like you didn’t have a choice, and maybe you didn’t, but neither does the court. I can represent you the best that I can, but your chances are slim.”

The client turned towards him, not in anger but only in apprehension. “There’s a chance.”

“There’s a chance,” nodded Woohyun. “But not a likelihood.”

 

—

 

The client’s ex-wife, a sickly and pale woman around Woohyun’s age, was in the courtroom when Woohyun entered with his own client. As the two of them clambered into the defendant’s table, the ex-wife’s attorney took a second to wave Woohyun down.

“Attorney Nam, do you have a second?” The ex-wife’s attorney was a middle-aged woman with an arrogant expression. Her voice was deadly soft, forcing Woohyun to pay close attention to listen to her words.

“You are?” Woohyun asked, trying to remember the attorney’s name.

“Counsel to Ms. Yaginuma,” said the attorney. “You know, you could save everybody a considerable amount of time if you drop your opposition to return. I’ve caught a bit of a cold, you see, and I don’t want to strain my throat winning the argument.”

Something about her accent told Woohyun that the woman was not a local. “It must be our climate here,” Woohyun said with an artificial smile. “Perhaps some vitamin C might do you some good.”

The attorney nearly rolled her eyes in the courtroom, but the bailiff announced the judge’s entry, forcing the two lawyers to prepare themselves for argument.

The family court judge was not local to Changdong. The local family court judges were not experienced enough with international law matters, so the courts sent a more experienced judge from the capital city. The judge today, Judge Hahn, was relatively young for a judge, maybe just ten years older than Woohyun.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she announced. The judge’s voice was remarkably squeakier than Woohyun expected. “Court is in now in session. Can we have representations, please?”

“Goto Ayami, representing Ms. Yaginuma Kazuko,” said plaintiff’s lawyer. “I take it that the court has already approved my request for appointment pro hac vice.”

“The court did, Ms. Goto, and we grant it. And for the defendant?”

“Nam Woohyun for Mr. Yeon Hyungsang,” said Woohyun.

“Alright then, we’ll begin,” the judge announced, before clearing her throat. “The issue before the court today is an arcane one that I only understand with some difficulty. The question is this: does a Japanese ne exeat order create a right of custody under Hague Convention on the Civil Aspects of International Child Abduction, the violation of which triggers the compulsory return of a child under sixteen years of age to his country of habitual residence? Did I get that right?”

“I believe so, Your Honor,” said Woohyun, and his opposing counsel said something to the same effect.

“Good, I was wondering whether I missed a word. Ms. Goto, you may begin.”

The Japanese lawyer, evidently unfamiliar with the court practices in Changdong, began by standing at her seat, but the judge pointed a finger at the podium in front of the judge’s bench.

“Thank you, Judge Hahn. I want to begin by saying that the Hague Convention’s purpose is ultimately about protecting children, and today this court knows nothing about the whereabouts of the child in question. Yeon Joonshik is only five, and his mother has not seen him in over a month. Compounding this tragedy is the fact that he was wrongfully removed. Under the Hague Convention, Joonshik should be returned to his home, that is to say, Japan,” began Goto, attempting to sound authoritative.

“That’s good to hear,” said Judge Hahn, looking unimpressed. “Do you have a legal argument?”

The Japanese attorney looked momentarily surprised, before clearing her throat and proceeding to give a more legal explanation. “Yes, Your Honor. The Hague Convention was written with the intent to protect children, and doing so involved protections against international child abductions. An abduction was considered unlawful under the Convention if a parent took the child in violation of the other parent’s right of custody. Unlawful abductions resulted in compulsory return. There were exceptions but they aren’t at issue today. The point of the Convention is to return children to their homes, the country of habitual residence, so that custody disputes would be resolved in the home country, instead of the country where the abductor had fled. The rationale was to prevent child abductions: abductors would no longer flee to another country, if the child would be returned immediately.”

“Yes, I understand, but you’re not getting at my point,” said the judge. “I agree with all of what you said, but why should a parent’s ne exeat rights be considered a right of custody?”

“You look at the statute, Your Honor,” replied Goto. “Article 5(a) says ‘rights of custody’ ‘shall include rights relating to the care of the person of the child and, in particular, the right to determine the child's place of residence,’ and here includes the parent’s ne exeat right. The mother’s ne exeat right meant that the father needed her permission before she could take Joonshik out of the country. This right allowed her to veto the removal of her child from the country. In other words, she had the right to keep the child’s place of residence within Japan. Location, after all, is part of upbringing. By confining the child’s place to residence to Japan, the mother partially controlled how the child would grow up. And lastly, other courts interpreting the Hague Convention agree that ne exeat rights are rights of custody. The interpretation I have stated would also fulfill the Convention’s purpose in deterring child abductions. For these reasons, as elaborated in our brief, the court should order the return of Joonshik to Japan.”

“I see. And Attorney Nam, your thoughts?” The judge looked somewhat sympathetic.

Woohyun stood up, hesitantly. It would be hard to argue with what Goto Ayami had said: she was probably correct in her interpretation of the statute, if not necessarily. But he was a lawyer, and he had a client to represent, so he paused to collect his thoughts and then began to speak.`

“Your Honor, the mother’s ne exeat right should not be considered a right of custody under the Hague Convention. Mr. Yeon had full custody of his son when he was living in Japan. The child’s mother had no say in any of the relevant details of Yeon Joonshik’s upbringing, such as the child’s choice of school, clothing, or culture. Because the mother only had visitation privileges in addition to the ne exeat right, she had the ‘rights of access’ described in Article 5(b). While we concede that Article 5(a)’s definition of a ‘right of custody’ is not identical to custody in the family law sense, it would be too far to stretch that right to include the mother’s right here. The only right that Ms. Yaginuma had was the right to deny Mr. Yeon the ability to travel overseas with his child. It was a negative right, and one that could not be affirmatively exercised unless preceded by one of Mr. Yeon’s actions.”

“If she knew her child was being taken to this country, she may have exercised that right,” responded the judge.

“That may be the case,” Woohyun had to concede again, “but it’s not a right that relates to the care of the child under 5(a), and it can’t be a right to determine the child’s upbringing. Mr. Yeon retained the full right to choose where in Japan his child lived. Joonshik’s mother could have said yes or no if Joonshik left the country, as part of the ne exeat right, but she could not say where the child would have gone. If Joonshik did not leave the country, there would be nothing about the child’s upbringing for her to approve or disapprove. Ms. Yaginuma had the right to choose the country Joonshik where was raised, but not Joonshik’s place of residence, as required by 5(a).”

“And other courts have disagreed with this interpretation,” the judge said, raising an eyebrow.

“Those decisions aren’t binding, and they’re not persuasive. I point you to our brief, which explains that the Hague Convention was written in mind with a different concern. The drafters were worried about non-custodial parents who would kidnap their children and take them to another country, where the non-custodial parent would be awarded custody in that second country. They were not concerned about a parent kidnapping a child if they had custody.”

“Custody, again, in the domestic sense and not the international law sense.”

“Perhaps. And lastly, the Convention speaks about the best interests of the child, and today that entails keeping the child here, in the country chosen by his custodial parent. The compulsory return should be denied,” said Woohyun, in closing.

“Ms. Goto, if you will, for the rebuttal,” said the judge, now steepling her fingers. “And quickly.”

“Yes, Your Honor. The Hague Convention was written with the best interests of the child in mind, and it is in the best interests of the child to be returned to their country of habitual residence. To that effect, the Convention compels return in a wrongful abduction, where the other parent’s custody rights were violated. A custody right is a right allowing a parent to care for their child. It must include the mother’s ne exeat right to determine the country of the child’s upbringing. The child should be returned to Japan.”

The judge took a second to remove her spectacles and clean them. “I’ve heard enough. I’ll be in chambers and then we’ll return after lunch. You are all dismissed.

Woohyun left with his client close behind. Neither of the men ate lunch. However, the client did take the chance to show Woohyun his newest photo of Joonshik, displaying a photo of a boy remarkably tall for his age. Woohyun said nothing about the case, being uncertain about the outcome himself.

The judge called the two attorneys back to court in the middle of the afternoon.

“I’ve looked at your briefs, and I’ve made my decision. It was a very difficult decision and I thank both counselors for guiding me through the process. I’m ready to render judgment,” she said, solemnly and calmly. “I have my decision, which I’ve printed out and given to the bailiff to read so that neither of you think less of me for the question I’m going to ask.”

She passed three envelopes to the court bailiff, who kept one and delivered the other two to the lawyers.

“This question has no legal bearing on the case in mind, but counselors, could either of you tell me why Mr. Yeon brought his child here?” The judge asked.

Woohyun winced to himself. He had been hoping that the issue would not be raised.

“Your Honor, I’m not free to disclose, and that’s not an issue for the court,” Woohyun began.

Goto Ayami was not so reticent. “Mr. Yeon was about to lose custody of his child because a local court issued a summons for his arrest. On the day before he would have been arraigned in court, he took a plane ride here instead.”

The judge looked at each of the four people before her with blinkered eyes: first at the plaintiff, then her attorney, then Woohyun’s client, and then Woohyun. She nodded.

“For what?”

“Domestic violence against my client,” said the Japanese lawyer, without any shred of hesitation. “It was going to cost him custody.”

Woohyun took the time to glance at his quiet client, but neither of them said anything to each other. “Again, this is all outside the court’s interest.”

“And I agree, Attorney Nam, but I’ve already made my decision. The bailiff will read what’s been presented to you.”

The courtroom bailiff began reading something from the paper aloud, but Woohyun read the paper before him even quicker.

“The court hereby finds that ne exeat rights are rights of custody under the Hague Convention. The child’s abduction violated a right of custody, was unlawful, and demands compulsory return. I hereby direct the Ministry of Interior to immediately return Yeon Joonshik to Japan in the custody of his mother.”

Woohyun nodded. It was the outcome he had expected. He only had the brief opportunity to turn to his client, but the man was angrily rushing out of the courtroom. Woohyun tried to say a word to his opposing counsel, but the woman only pointed at his client.

“You’ll want to go with him,” she said in a saccharine tone. “I don’t want little Joonshik to take any other unauthorized plane rides.”

He gave a sigh, and followed after his client. Yeon Hyungsang was looking distraught, stomping his feet as he walked one way up the corridor and then down, without any idea where he was headed.

“Mr. Yeon, Mr. Yeon,” said Woohyun, taking the man by the shoulder. “We can still appeal. There are higher courts than can overrule the judge’s decision. This isn’t necessarily over.”

“I’m not mad about losing,” the other man said, breathing hard. “I’m just thinking about how I’m going to adapt. And how I’m going to survive.”

“You’re prepared to send him back?” Woohyun said, taken somewhat aback.

“I don’t want a fight I can’t win. It won’t help Joonshik one bit,,” came the response. “And once he’s back, there’s no way I retain custody. That woman is going to have him. He’s only five. Who knows what she’ll do to him?”

“You have to hope for the best. I’m sorry, but I tried very hard,” Woohyun gave a predictable response, lackluster even to his own ears.

“I know. The judge had to make a decision. But I guess I should save my breath and my money, right? I should know when I’m dealing with a fight I won’t win,” said the client, refusing to make eye contact.

Woohyun agreed. “Sometimes we need to learn when to stop.”

 

—

 

“It was a hard case, I know that,” said Sungyeol. They were in the back of their car now. Outside, they were approaching the central courthouse of the capital city.

Woohyun nodded. “I expected to lose, but it makes me so sad. I knew the man’s son would be sent back, but I really hoped it didn’t happen.”

“It’s not always about winning, right?” Sungyeol said, now reaching over to entwine his fingers with Woohyun’s own. “Sometimes it’s just about doing the right thing, right?”

Woohyun gave a small smile. “It’s difficult sometimes.” He turned to look out the window. There was a small crowd of protesters in front of the courthouse, probably driven up from Changdong, waving signs that demanded Sungyeol resign. 

“Do you remember the crowds the first time we came here?” Sungyeol said with a barely-visible smile. “It had been two weeks since the Supreme Court handed down a ruling legalizing same-sex marriages, and there were still thousands who couldn’t stand it. They formed a crowd all around the front of the building, waving signs.”

That had seemed such a long time ago to Woohyun, but it was true. They were also chauffeured here that time, and it took them a tense half-hour before they could get close enough to the courthouse doors to exit. They were only inside for half an hour, waiting for a clerk to attend to them. It only took five minutes for the two of them to fill out a form and sign their names. One of the local judges took the time to officially record their marriage and stamp their application. Woohyun no longer remembered this judge’s name or even gender, but only that the judge had been a politically-connected friend of his family. Then the clerk photocopied their application and handed Woohyun and Sungyeol the marriage certificate.

And then they were husband and husband.

The press had been the worst that day. All of those cameras lined up in the courthouse halls to take pictures of them, even if none of them obstructed Woohyun’s step. The photos of the two of them, in their best tuxedos, walking hand in hand out of the courthouse with their marriage certificate in hand back to their car. More than a few magazines had made a mint the next day, publishing photos of the President’s son marrying some no-name lawyer still undergoing his trainee period as a prosecutor.

It was only ten years ago, and not a very long period of time, but sitting in the back of their car brought up many happy memories for Woohyun. He could barely given an answer.

“I remember. There was a crowd,” Woohyun said softly. The car came to a halt and their bodyguards opened the door to let the two of them out. There were cameras on the two of them now as both exited. Sungyeol exited first, with Woohyun following behind. 

Sungyeol took the time to deliberately extend his hand to help Woohyun out of the car. Woohyun clasped Sungyeol’s hand, looking into Sungyeol’s eyes again. 

“Hold tight,” said Sungyeol with a smile.

And then it was like old time’s sake, the two of them in their own world. 

The cameras, the crowds, and the nearby crowd faded into mere backdrops around them, utterly irrelevant to their lives.

Holding Sungyeol’s hand, Woohyun walked forward.


	9. Corrupt persuasion

Lights. Cameras. Reporters. Crowds. Nothing Woohyun hadn’t seen a million times before as the scion of an elite family. But this time, the questions were for him as well as Sungyeol, and they hurt.

“Assemblyman Lee, do you have anything new to say about the charges against you?”

“Mr. Nam, are you still living with your disgraced husband? Will you divorce him?”

“Are you going to resign your Assembly seat? Do you intend to plead guilty?”

“How do you feel about your husband’s corruption charges? Is he innocent?”

“Are you innocent? Do you intend to clear your name?”

“How does former President Lee feel about these allegations?”

“Is it true that these charges are politically motivated? Is this political persecution?”

“Is it true that your marriage was a political sham meant to disguise a loveless relationship?”

Only the last question caught Woohyun off-guard, forcing him to look straight ahead. Sungyeol’s aides and bodyguards were now clearing the way through the crowd, leaving the path straight for the two of them. Sungyeol and Woohyun continued to walk ahead, holding hands and refusing to look either to their side or back. They could only go forward.

Howon was standing outside Department 3 as Sungyeol and Woohyun arrived. His face was pained and tense. Woohyun did not think Howon had much sleep last night.

“Sungjong and Myungsoo are inside?” Sungyeol asked, not bothering to greet Howon by name.

Howon nodded. “They’re sitting on the left. This is just a motion hearing, though it’s for the most serious criminal charge against Sungyeol. Attorney Seo is inside as well. You’ll want to talk to her.”

Sungyeol gave a brisque nod. “And my tormentor?”

“Prosecutor Park is inside already. She doesn’t look like she’s in a good mood. That should be helpful to you,” Howon answered, voice tense.

Sungyeol only raised an eyebrow before turning to Woohyun. “Let’s go in,” he said, still holding Woohyun’s hand. Woohyun was about to follow Sungyeol inside, when Howon raised his voice.

“Wait, Woohyun, can I talk to you for a second?” The tension in Howon’s voice told Woohyun that Howon was not just worried about Sungyeol.

Sungyeol’s eyes rapidly flickered from Howon’s eyes, to Woohyun’s face, and then back to Howon, but Woohyun had no expression. The man turned to Sungyeol.

“Go inside. You’ll need some time to talk to Attorney Seo,” he said blandly. Sungyeol stood in the doorway to the courtroom for a second. When Woohyun made no motion to follow, Sungyeol nodded again and headed inside.

Woohyun turned back, following Howon into an attorney-client conference room outside the courtroom. “Is something the matter?”

“I hope not,” said Howon, relaxing slightly. “It’s about your job. It’s something weird.”

“What?”

“You’re working with Kim Sunggyu, aren’t you?"

A twitch of anger flashed across Woohyun’s face before he could control himself. “You’re keeping tabs on me?”

Howon scoffed, as if Woohyun had said something childish. “Yes, in a manner of speaking. I pay attention to you as well, but I’m not spying on you. I didn’t even know about Sunggyu until this morning.”

“And why are you suddenly concerned with my job? Sungyeol is your client, right? And you’re supposed to keep his confidences, right? This is my life, Howon.

“Listen,” said Howon, face growing dark. “Saving Sungyeol’s skin is part of my job, and I’ll do it in any way.” He pulled two cell phones, using both hands, from the pockets on his suit. “This phone in my right hand is my regular phone, and this phone in my left hand is the one I use exclusively when I get angry calls from Representatives Yoo, Hong, and other hostile members of the party’s Supreme Council. I’m more dedicated to your husband’s political career, and his political party, than you are.”

The corners of Woohyun’s mouth tugged downwards in a small frown. “I get your point. Now get on with it.”

“Listen, in the morning, while I was getting coffee at the coffee stand outside the courthouse, I overheard a conversation. Kim Sunggyu was talking to somebody, maybe a reporter, who was asking him about your performance at SLG. Sunggyu said the normal pleasantries, that you were doing fine. And then they had a small conversation. Sunggyu mentioned he was going to watch Sungyeol’s motion hearing today. What is the meaning of this?” Howon’s tone was cutting, if not hostile.

Woohyun refused to play along. “I don’t know what deeper meaning you’re looking for. It means Sunggyu has an interest in politics. I don’t think there’s anything more to see.”

“Don’t give me that, Woohyun. I knew Sunggyu too, remember. And I knew he was your—” Howon then turned around while confirming nobody was listening to them. “—I know he was your boyfriend.”

“I work with him, and now he’s coming to watch a riveting political trial,” said Woohyun in a flat tone. “I have nothing to do with Sunggyu’s presence today, if he’s here already.”

“He’s not, and do you expect me to believe that? Your old flame, who you were passionately in love with, and who you are now working with on a daily basis, decided to show up to your husband’s ongoing humiliation?” Howon was aghast, and his voice was scornful with disbelief.

“There is nothing going on between me and Sunggyu. We are not sleeping with each other. He is not here at my behest,” Woohyun said, looking Howon straight in the eye, mustering force in his voice. “There is nothing between us."

Howon blinked first and looked away. “I don’t know if Sungyeol would appreciate seeing Sunggyu in the back of the courtroom. It might throw him off of his game.”

Woohyun rolled his eyes as he got up to leave. “Don’t point it out to Sungyeol then.”

 

\---

 

Woohyun found his place in the left aisle seat in the second row of the audience. A few seconds later, there was some commotion at the doors as one last group of journalists and spectators made them seated in the last few rows of the courtroom. He took a second to nudge Myungsoo beside him. “Is Kim Sunggyu now sitting behind us?” He whispered.

“Our friend from law school?” Myungsoo asked in response. Woohyun nodded his head affirmatively.

Myungsoo made a slight turn of his head to try to look. He shrugged, without saying a word.

Woohyun gave a sigh to himself. Lee Howon, Kim Myungsoo, maybe even Lee Sungjong. They were his friends, Woohyun believed, but they must have been closer to Sungyeol. In their college days at Yeonsoong University, he had been far closer to Howon than Sungyeol had been, but Myungsoo and Sungjong had always been in Sungyeol’s camp. Nowadays Sungjong and Sungyeol were not so close as before, but Howon was now loyal to Sungyeol.

It had only been ten years since they had started graduating: first Sunggyu and Dongwoo, then Woohyun, Howon, and Sungyeol the next year, and then Myungsoo and Sungjong as the last two. There were only two years when all seven of them had formed one social circle, but it had been a bond that seemed unbreakable.

They were such an eclectic mix of students: Sunggyu and Woohyun loved to sing. Dongwoo and Howon loved to rap. Myungsoo took photographs under the art-name L, like the letter. Woohyun couldn’t remember what exactly Sungyeol and Sungjong did. Perhaps all they did was crack jokes and look pretty. But those were days long ago, and every choice Woohyun had made back then lead him to this courtroom today.

The court session began a few minutes later.

“Alright, I see that all parties are present, so we might begin a bit early. I now call case CQ-0078-20, Prosecutor-General v. Lee Sungyeol. I see we have Ms. Seo Hyunkyung for the defense and Ms. Park Soonhye for the prosecution,” said Judge Kwak, looking at the parties before her. “We’re here on a motion to dismiss Count One of the indictment.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” said Attorney Seo, seated at the defense table with Sungyeol beside her. “We argue that Count One of the indictment fails to state an offense. The court cannot find Lee Sungyeol guilty if it accepts the prosecution’s allegations at face value.”

“And does the prosecution take the same view?” The judge asked, turning to Prosecutor Park.

The woman dramatically stood up, as if to deliver some witty or cutting comment, but seemed to change heart as soon as she was standing. Instead, all she said was a simple “No.”

The judge gave a shrug. “And here I thought we could all get along. Attorney Seo, the argument is all yours.”

“Thank you, Your Honor. And may I use the podium?” Attorney Seo said, rising from her seat. The judge nodded, and the defense lawyer began speaking from the podium at the center of the courtroom.

“Your Honor, the defendant Lee Sungyeol was charged, among other things, a violation of Title 24, section 98(a)(2)(c). This is the witness-tampering statute, and it is classified as obstruction of justice. 98(a)(2)(c) states, and I paraphrase here, that anybody who knowingly uses intimidation or corruptly persuades another person with intent to cause any person to destroy an object to impair the object’s availability for use in an official proceeding, is guilty of a felony. The prosecution has attempted to argue that Lee Sungyeol violated this statute in March of this year when he sent several group text messages to four prostitutes. In his messages to Miss Kim, Miss Roh, Mr. Bae, and Mr. Choi, Lee Sungyeol asked the four escorts to delete all text messages that they had sent or received from him. The four men and women complied. The government has now sought to criminalize this conduct by saying that Lee Sungyeol obstructed justice by committing witness tampering.”

“And just to make this clear,” asked the judge, “does the statute require that the destructor of evidence, in this case the prostitutes, also have the intent to impair the object’s viability in an official proceeding?”

“No, Your Honor. The courts have interpreted 98(a)(2)(c) so that the intent to impair must be held by the person who uses intimidation or corrupt persuasion. There is no intent necessary from the person who actually destroys the evidence.”

“I see. Continue.”

”Lee Sungyeol has not been accused of using intimidation by the prosecution. Instead, the government has alleged solely that Lee Sungyeol used corrupt persuasion in getting the prostitutes to delete their text messages. This is an improper reading of ‘corrupt persuasion’ that must fail. If you look at the Supreme Court’s precedent in Prosecutor v. Segye Geonseol and Prosecutor v. Cheongshimwon, you’ll see that corrupt persuasion requires more than that. In Segye Geonseol, the Supreme Court held that it wasn’t illegal for a company to destroy documents that would be helpful in a government investigation, if it had no idea that the documents would be used in an official proceeding. In Cheongshimwon, the Supreme Court held that the process of ‘knowingly using corrupt persuasion’ requires that a defendant know of his wrongdoing, to limit the statute from reaching benign conduct.”

“And the defendant can’t be convicted of obstruction? I don’t see the connection, Attorney Seo, so please get to the meaning quickly,” said the judge, scratching at her temple.

“Your Honor, if you could look at the timeline, please. The prosecution’s own evidence states that Lee Sungyeol sent these text messages in early March. The police were not even alerted to the existence of High Rollers VIP, the escort service, until late March. Lee Sungyeol’s name was leaked to the media in early April, and the police initiated an investigation of the Assemblyman later that month. It was not until July that the Assemblyman lost his parliamentary immunity and was indicted. There were no official proceedings for him to obstruct at the time he sent the text messages."

Prosecutor Park took that as her cue to stand up and make her own argument. “Your Honor, it’s a settled issue that an official proceeding does not need to exist, or even be on the verge of initiating, at the time of the obstruction.”

Woohyun almost jumped, startled. There were times when a lawyer had to interrupt opposing counsel, but never when the judge had given a lawyer permission to speak freely

The judge, unsurprisingly, shot the prosecutor a sharp glare. “I’m aware of that, and could you please wait your turn?” The prosecutor took her seat with an apologetic bow. The defense attorney paid her no need.

“There was no official proceeding for Lee Sungyeol to obstruct. In fact, Lee Sungyeol could not have the intent to obstruct a future official proceeding, because the police did not know about his activities, nor did any other member of the government. There was simply no connection between Lee Sungyeol’s obstructive act and any official proceeding, existing or foreseeable. Lee Sungyeol could not know, in the obstruction context, that he was doing anything wrong.”

“It does seem like he knows what he did was wrong. This sounds like Lee Sungyeol was concealing a felony, just not obstructing justice,” said the judge, looking slightly amused.

“We utterly deny that, Your Honor. We assert that the prosecution has enough evidence for the other counts of the indictment, but Lee Sungyeol will utterly vindicate his name once he presents his own defense,” said Attorney Seo, coolly. Woohyun was relieved. The attorney was better at arguing motions than for cross-examination.

“And Prosecutor Park. You may speak now,” said the judge, turning to the prosecutor.

“I think the evidence before the court is clear. Lee Sungyeol knew what he was doing was wrong. He knew that somebody, such as the police, could find out about his crimes and arrest him. To pre-empt that, he asked the prostitutes to destroy documents, thereby depriving the government of their use. When prosecutors did investigate him, they were forced to work almost from scratch because the prostitutes initially refused to cooperate,” the prosecutor said, utterly calm and confident in her tone. But there was more to her tone, Woohyun thought. There was arrogance.

The judge looked at both the attorneys arguing, pursed her lips, and nodded to herself. She steeled herself to give what Woohyun predicted would be a blistering critique of the prosecution.

Woohyun was correct.

“Thank you counsel for the arguments,” the judge began. “I hereby grant Lee Sungyeol’s motion to dismiss for failure to state an offense. Prosecutor Park, I am friends with Prosecutor-General Na, and if I’ve told her once, I’ve told her a thousand times: the prosecution cannot stretch the meaning of the statutes. 98(a)(2)(c) criminalizes corrupt persuasion, and there’s no corruption unless a defendant knows about an existing or foreseeable proceeding. In March, the defendant could not even foresee that the police would investigate. The prosecution has conflated concealment of a crime with obstruction of justice. This was an error. Count One of the indictment is hereby dismissed. Thank you both.”

Woohyun watched as Sungyeol, stone-faced throughout the entire proceeding, suddenly relaxed as the judge issued the judgment. Sungyeol stood up to shake his attorney’s hand, and then quickly turned back towards Woohyun. His eyes were bright, and his smile flashed white teeth, and Woohyun could almost feel radiant heat emanating from the man.

Sungyeol tilted his head as he spoke. “Woohyun. Let’s go home?”

They left, both holding hands, too elated to notice Sunggyu’s sullen glare from the back of the courtroom.

 

\---

 

“You should remember that I’m still facing three criminal charges,” said Sungyeol. They were at the Nam-Lee residence in Changdong, in the house they had lived in for almost ten years.

“The obstruction charge was the most serious of the four,” said Woohyun, grabbing two wine glasses for the both of them. “It was punishable by up to five years in jail. That’s as many years as the other three charges combined. One year for the misdemeanor, two years each for the felonies.”

“Yes,” Sungyeol answered, grabbing a bottle of Bordeaux red from the wine cabinet. “But there’s still five years to worry about.”

Woohyun shook his head. “Attorney Seo has reviewed every misdemeanor case of solicitation in the last twenty years. Not one first-time offender was sentenced to jail. It was only probation. You probably won’t get more than probation even if you are convicted on all counts. If you serve more than a year in jail, you might have a legitimate claim for political persecution.”

“The misdemeanor is the one you’re most concerned about?” Sungyeol asked, raising an eyebrow as Woohyun uncorked the wine. “Not the two felonies?”

“It is,” murmured Woohyun as he poured the two glasses of red wine on the kitchen counter of the island. He turned around to walk up to Sungyeol, so close that their faces were separated by a hand’s breadth. “I don’t want you to serve jail time for cheating on me. I don’t want you to serve any jail time at all, especially when you’ve been accused of crimes that pale when compared to what other politicians have gotten away with. You’d be right to say it’s not fair.”

“Woohyun, you’re not doubting me, are you?” Sungyeol’s voice hitched slightly. When Woohyun reached up to cup Sungyeol’s cheek, the taller man turned his face away.

“I believe you when you say you’re innocent, but if you committed the crime, then you committed the crime,” Woohyun answered, putting his hand away. “I love you, and I want the best for you, but there are limits to what I could do for you, even if I tried. There are many ways for me to support you, but I don’t know if I can save you. If you’re convicted, at least I can bring a courtroom full of people in support of leniency.”

“Would you leave me?” Sungyeol’s voice was quiet, at the threshold of hearing. “If I go to jail?”

Woohyun had backed away to the counter, picking his glass of wine by the stem. He took a sip before he answered, trying to be calm even as thoughts raced inside him. “I wish I could want to leave you right now, and let you fight these criminal charges by yourself. I hate what you’ve done to me, and how you’ve humiliated me in front of the whole country, and maybe the entire world. You’re a laughingstock—the young, attractive politician who turns out to be an unfaithful, lying, hedonist. And the people laugh at me too, as the scorned spouse too stupid to leave. But right now, I don’t even want to leave you, Sungyeol. Do you know how much I hate that?”

Sungyeol still had his face turned away, not making eye contact. “If there’s anything I can do,” he said, in halting starts and fits, “I’ll do it to make up to you.”

“There isn’t anything you can do now to make me forgive you,” Woohyun answered. “And don’t think that I forgive you. Not yet, not now. You’re not the first person who thought he could force me to forgive him, if he just worked harder.”

There was a pause now, and Sungyeol was looking sick. “I never gave you that explanation you wanted.” He said, finally mustering up the words.

Woohyun gave a small sigh, tilting his head before taking another sip of wine. “I still want to hear it.”

“You’ll only hate me more if I say what I honestly feel,” Sungyeol said, still hesitant.

“After everything you’ve put me through,” Woohyun gave a humorless, harsh laugh, “how much more can I hate you?”

“Then I’ll be honest.”

“Go ahead,” Woohyun said as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Try me.”

Sungyeol took a breath, and spoke.

“I cheated on you because I felt you were drifting away, just as I wanted to get closer to you.”

Woohyun took a breath, and stared at Sungyeol with wide eyes.

His husband wasn’t joking, by saying the few words that could have angered him even more.

“What, Sungyeol, was that? Are you blaming your affairs on me?” Woohyun’s face couldn’t even muster anger. Just an incredulous disappointment.

For a good ten seconds, the two of them stared at each other. Woohyun’s expression could only contain hurt, while a wave of despair set over Sungyeol’s face. The kitchen grew so quiet that Woohyun could hear the grandfather clock ticking from two rooms away. Instead of the world growing small around Woohyun, it felt like the room was expanding around the two of them. The few feet of kitchen counter between the two men seemed a mile-wide.

Woohyun sucked in a deep breath.

And then Sungyeol broke down crying. He put his hands over his face, sobbing, leaning forward and making long heaves. His entire body was shaking.

“No, Woohyun, I was weak. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean that, I didn’t know this would happen,” Sungyeol stammered, although his voice was muffled by the hands over his face. “It’s all my fault, all of this. I take that back, Woohyun, I take that back. It’s not your fault. I should have done something, should have told you something. We could have worked something out. I shouldn’t have left you like that. I’ve hurt you so much, and you still have done so much for me. I know I don’t deserve it.” Sungyeol was babbling now, between sobs.

What happened next made Woohyun hate himself almost as much as he hated Sungyeol. Woohyun stood up, walked around the kitchen island, and gently sat Sungyeol in one of the chairs at the counter. Still standing, he pulled Sungyeol’s hands from his face. Sungyeol’s eyes were closed even as tears fell out of them, so Woohyun took his thumbs and softly wiped the tears from them. And because Sungyeol continued to shake, Woohyun wrapped his arms against the other man. Sungyeol’s eyes were teary, his nose was running, and he was coughing with dry heaves, but Woohyun didn’t care as Sungyeol buried his face against the lapels of Woohyun’s silk suit.

Sungyeol had once comforted Woohyun like this, after Woohyun had finally broken up with Sunggyu after a painful relationship. It was all Woohyun felt he could do, to make up for it.

If Woohyun had given it more thought, he might have found it humorous. Back then, it had been Sunggyu who had cheated on Woohyun, and Sungyeol who provided comfort. But now Sungyeol proved himself human as well.

“I’m so sorry, Woohyun. I’ll never touch another man or woman without your permission, ever, if you don’t want me to,” Sungyeol continued to say, voice still muffled.

Woohyun could feel tears in his own eyes, but they did not fall. “Don’t speak, Sungyeol. You still don’t understand how angry I am at you. You don’t understand how much I hate that I love you.” He was pressed so close against Sungyeol he could feel the other man’s throat gulping.

The two of them remained silent for a time, locked in embrace. Woohyun finally chose to start speaking.

“How did you even find out about them? The whores?”

“It was from another politician,” Sungyeol admitted glumly, now extricating himself from the embrace. “I don’t even like the man, but we were discussing some policy issue and this woman arrives. He says she’s his girlfriend, and I said he was married. He admitted she was a whore, and gave me the escort agency’s number. And it was one of those weeks where we had a minor disagreement, Woohyun, and we didn’t talk for days. So I felt weak when I called. I visited the escort agency the next day. And once I was there, I succumbed to greed. The men and women there were so beautiful you would think they’re from another world. I just became caught up in what I had available, and what they would do for me if I just asked.”

“The power got to your head,” Woohyun responded with little emotion.

“It did. I don’t even have a lot of power. I’m in the ruling party, yes, and I’m critical for the party’s thin majority in the legislature, but it’s just been my first term. I’ve only been here two years and I already thought I was owed the world,” Sungyeol said, looking at Woohyun apologetically. “I became a politician first, and Sungyeol second. And I’m sorry for that.”

“I don’t forgive you. Not yet,” Woohyun said. When Sungyeol’s mouth opened in horror, Woohyun felt obliged to continue speaking, with a sigh. “But I’ve been alone for four months now. I think you can stay for tonight.”

Sungyeol gave a wide smile, and this time, Woohyun didn’t viscerally hate himself for loving that smile.

“Don’t try to quit your lease for that place in Haseong. It’s nothing permanent, and don’t think I forgive you,” Woohyun said, face slightly turning red. “But it’s been four months since we’ve shared a bed, so—”

Woohyun’s voice was cut off when Sungyeol kissed him.

And something felt right again. Not everything, but something.

 

\---

 

“You better be clean,” said Woohyun in a huff, as he slowly unbuttoned Sungyeol’s dress shirt. “I don’t know who else those whores have fucked.”

“They’re an expensive agency,” Sungyeol said, still abashed. “Part of the fee goes towards testing for diseases. They should be clean.”

“So you don’t know?” Woohyun said, raising an eyebrow.

Sungyeol conceded by shaking his head. Woohyun discarded his own undershirt as he temporarily left the bed. He first handed Sungyeol a bottle of lubricant, and then grabbed a condom from the nightstand. Almost by instinct, an expression of protest flickered across Sungyeol’s face before the man returned to his previous and hopeful expression.

“You’ll need to see a doctor first,” Woohyun said decisively, before waving the condom packet between his fingers, “and then, you won’t need to wear this next time.”

He tossed the square of foil into Sungyeol’s hands. Woohyun climbed back into bed, so he could undress the two of them.

And then it was one step towards normalcy.

 

\---

 

“I have work, you know.”

“It’s Sunday, Woohyun. You deserve this day off.”

“There’s a large squadron of environmental regulators coming into the office this week and I should be ready when they—hey!”

“What?”

“Don’t make those eyes at me.”

“What about this?”

“Don’t do that with your tongue either.”

“And this?”

“Fucking hell, Sungyeol, don’t touch yourself like that. You're an adult.”

“So your work isn’t until tomorrow. It’s not a rush. You have some time. Spend it with me.”

“Oh come on, Sungyeol, I’m not going to let you do your entire seduction routine. We’re not horny college students any more.”

“Last night was fun.”

“Lee Sungyeol! Do you think I already forgive you? Well, I don’t.”

“Please? One more round. We’ll feel good together. You have to wash these sheets either way.”

“You have this way of getting under my skin.”

“More like inside your—”

“Okay, okay! I get it. I’ll do it, just shut up.”

 

\---

 

“I heard some good news about your husband,” Sunggyu said, across from Woohyun in SLG’s smaller conference room. “The most serious charge against him was dismissed.”

“As it should have been.” Woohyun waved a hand, nonchalantly. “It was a weak case, and the prosecutor had no way of proving the charges.”

“It hinged on a very narrow legal definition,” Sunggyu replied warily.

Woohyun scoffed. “Were you there at the hearing? Sungyeol’s attorney explained it well. It was justice, not a technicality.”

Howon had said Sunggyu was there, but Woohyun didn’t see Sunggyu there. As such, Woohyun let himself pause for a second, waiting to see if Sunggyu would admit to being present. But he sensed Woohyun’s hostility, and apprehension briefly showed itself on his face. The taller, older man instead cleared his throat as he grabbed his pile of papers from the desk in front of them.

“I hope the best for him,” Sunggyu said blandly, and Woohyun supposed Sunggyu wasn’t there at the hearing. “Now let’s get ready to meet the regulators. You’ll get to see how good of a lawyer I really can be.”

Woohyun gave a nod as he looked at Sunggyu’s eyes. The other man seemed to sense something familiar in Woohyun’s gaze. “Is there something on my face? You’re looking at me in a weird way.”

The comment startled Woohyun, who cleared his throat. “I saw you argue so many times in practice back in law school, but I’ve never seen you practice law. I want to see how cool you look,” he said with a wistful smile, half to himself and half to Sunggyu. He grabbed his papers. And then Sunggyu and Woohyun walked out.


	10. Settlement agreement

It was like old times again: Kim Sunggyu and Nam Woohyun, two of the smartest students in their graduating class, destroying the opposition. The regulators never had a chance.

During their school competitions, when they roleplayed as negotiators, Woohyun and Sunggyu acted in synch, with a complicated good cop, bad cop routine. Woohyun would feign sympathy and understanding at first, while Sunggyu appeared adamant in resistance. And then the moment their opponents attempted to reach out to Woohyun for support, the dynamics would change. Woohyun would be the one persisting in opposition, while Sunggyu would begin to send out feelers of reconciliation. And once their opponents grew wary of their new dynamic, the two of them would reverse their roles again.

The government had sent five regulators to negotiate, but that team was hopelessly mismatched and underprepared. Three of the government’s team did not speak during the meeting, and the two co-leaders of the government team were clearly not on good terms.

Woohyun sat opposite of the older of the two opponents, a harsh and unsmiling scientist from the environmental regulation agency, while Sunggyu was across from the lawyer from the Ministry of Justice.

The scientist started the negotiations. “We know perfluorooctanoic acid is a toxic chemical, and we’d like Reinergen to start fronting over some related costs immediately,” said the scientist, with a dismissive air. “We came here hoping for a settlement agreement. If Reinergen manages to pay enough of the recovery, we won’t sue in court.”

Sunggyu crossed his arms in an equally dismissive manner. “Reinergen has been doing badly these last two quarters. You can look at their filings. If you push too hard, the company will go under, and then the government will be paying for the recovery out of its own pockets.”

Woohyun would have pointed out that ‘badly’ was relative. Reinergen’s revenue was down from previous years, but it was still making hundreds of millions in profits.

“Which would scare the other chemical manufacturers into falling in line,” muttered the lawyer under his breath. “Not to mention, it means you lose money too. If Reinergen goes under, you might not be able to keep the lights on.”

“Which is why we’re not hoping for a conflict either,” Woohyun interjected. “Reinergen’s board of directors and its upper management are all unanimous on this issue. They want a settlement agreement between the company and the government. Yes, we’re hoping to offset potential liabilities, but the government needs to remember that going to court costs you almost as much as it costs us.”

“You forget,” said the scientist, narrowing her eyes at Sunggyu, “that the current President has made protecting the environment one of his top priorities. You can tell Reinergen that the days are over when regulators and businesses were of one mind.”

“You regulators have had a terrible track record in court,” Sunggyu pointed out, though Woohyun knew he acted more antagonistic than he really was. “What will it cost you when we tangle in court and you lose? You won’t be able to scare anybody.”

“The cost of litigation should be frightening,” said the lawyer. “Besides, no matter how many times we lose, we will always be around. But if you lose, the reputation of SLG is on the line. And not just your reputation. You know, I can fax you the application forms for unemployment insurance.”

“Let’s try to dial back the vitriol,” said Woohyun. It was an attempt at intercession that was perfectly cued, as he saw it, to presenting himself as Sunggyu’s foil. “Like I said before, we’re also hoping for some agreement. Nobody here wants to be standing before a judge any time soon.”

“Reinergen can walk back from a voluntary consent agreement any time it chooses,” pointed out the government lawyer, his voice wary.

“At which point, the government hires its lawyers and we fight this out in court,” continued Woohyun, trying to sound soothing. “We want an agreement that we can uphold. Of course, Reinergen would like a voluntary consent agreement, but we’re also open to a binding settlement agreement.”

“There are often days that I doubt your sincerity,” said the scientist, with a snort. “I can never tell when you’re serious.”

“That’s not necessary, Dr. Hwang,” continued Woohyun, disarming as always. “What are your requests?”

“I believe we’ve mentioned before that Reinergen will discontinue the use of PFOA at its Ingsan facility?” The government lawyer asked, though his tone indicated he knew the answer.

“I know we’ve already agreed to that,” said Sunggyu, butting in. “If that’s all you want we should have been done long ago.”

The scientist shot Sunggyu a glare. “And you will discontinue the use of PFOA at your other major factories? Daesan, Socheon, and Taeju?”

“We can discontinue PFOA at Ingsan immediately, Attorney Ha, but we’ll need some time to think about the other three locations,” Woohyun said, to the lawyer, trying to drive a bridge between his two opponents.

Dr. Hwang scratched at her chin. “I’ve seen some of the water quality reports for Taeju and Socheon. They barely meet government thresholds now. If those thresholds were ever lowered …” Her voice trailed off, and Woohyun understood.

“Then Reinergen will do its best to prevent additional contamination of the Taeju and Socheon water supplies. And the Daesan plant is nearly shuttered. We can consider discontinuing the use of PFOA there,” said Woohyun.

“How much are you offering to pay for cleaning up?” It was the lawyer speaking to Woohyun. Woohyun knew this pattern well. He knew it would soon be the time for the switch, now that both of the opposing negotiators were talking to him.

“To provide drinking water for those affected,” said Woohyun, speaking slowly as he prepared to go from good cop to bad cop, “I’m thinking two million dollars.” It was a low estimate, and he knew it.

“What did I say about sincerity, Attorney Nam?” The scientist said, cocking her head to the side.

“It’s the lowest we’ll ever go, not the highest,” said Sunggyu, interrupting. It was Sunggyu’s turn to be conciliatory.

“Two million dollars can buy five or six houses in a good Changdong neighborhood,” said the lawyer, scratching his head. “It would barely suffice to provide bottled water to those affected in Ingsan. Would your settlement even try to get PFOA out of the ground?”

“It won’t,” said Woohyun. “It’s Reinergen’s position that the company bears no responsibility for the presence of PFOA in the ground. Reinergen has maintained that it disposed of PFOA in compliance with environmental regulations.”

If he had been pressed for his personal opinion, Woohyun would have admitted those regulations were purposefully lax, because they had been written by former employees of Reinergen who were later hired by the government. But Reinergen was his client, and he had to defend the company.

“And you won’t admit liability?” It was the lawyer.

“Not a chance,” said Woohyun, now sticking his chin out and looking at the two regulators down the bridge of his nose.

“But this is standard practice in any consent agreement or settlement agreement,” said Sunggyu, sounding soothing.

“No admission of wrongdoing, and a token sum,” scoffed the scientist. “I want to hear a larger figure.”

The government lawyer suggested his own figure, half to the other attorneys, and half to his partner. “Seven million?” His tone was unsure.

“We might go to four million,” said Sunggyu, smiling for the first time in the negotiation. “And if this is a consent agreement as opposed to an enforceable agreement, it’ll be money we won’t get back in any way.”

Four million dollars was the amount of profit that Reinergen made every three days, but Woohyun would never remind them of that.

“And this four million would only be for the people in Ingsan, as opposed to a fine paid to the government?” It was the scientist.

“Of course, but Reinergen is willing to spend another half-million for the government to hire an outside laboratory to test PFOA levels across the country,” said Sunggyu. Again, it was a small concession.

“Four million to provide water to people in Ingsan, half of a million for future testing,” said the scientist, gritting her teeth. “And you stop using PFOA to some degree. It’s not much.”

It was Sunggyu’s turn to resume his bad cop routine. “We’ll provide the half-million upfront, but we’re only providing four million as long as PFOA levels in Ingsan’s water are at unsafe levels. And we’re defining unsafe using today’s standards, not any revised standard.”

Dr. Hwang and Attorney Ha looked at each other. Dr. Hwang’s frown told Woohyun that the scientist wanted to refuse, but Attorney Ha’s exasperated expression indicated a contrary opinion.

The government lawyer gave a sigh. “And what do you want from us? I don’t think you’re making these concessions out of the goodness of your heart.”

“We don’t want any government actions against Reinergen relating to PFOA in Ingsan as long as the agreement holds,” Sunggyu said.

“And is the agreement going to be enforceable?” Asked the scientist.

Woohyun nodded, as the good cop again. “It will be. Reinergen will be totally committed to upholding its terms of the agreement.”

The two regulators exchanged glances, and the lawyer gave another sigh.

“We technically need to talk to our bosses, but we expect to know the results anyways,” said Attorney Ha. “Expect us to fax over the settlement agreement later today.”

The regulators departed without a further word. As soon as they were gone, Sunggyu turned to Woohyun. He raised a hand in the air for a high-five, but Woohyun declined, giving a smile instead.

\---

“I think we made a good team, again,” said Sunggyu with his own smile as they made themselves seated in the company’s empty break room. “The regulators had no clue what was coming at them. Four million, really? The other SLG attorneys swore that the government would accept nothing less than ten million. We negotiated down to half of that, and we made our offer contingent on other factors.”

“I don't know how much of that was skill at negotiation, and how much we should blame the other side for their own incompetence,” said Woohyun. “They honestly had no clue what they were doing in there.”

Sunggyu gave a nod, still happy. “It’s just like old times in law school, right? We had those negotiations competitions, which we dominated. It was you and me at first, and then Sungyeol came later. I remember our first competition: it was your first year in college, and we had to roleplay a contract interpretation case. Do you still remember our opponents?”

Woohyun had to pause for a few seconds to try to think. “It was … Dongwoo!” His eyes widened at the memory. “Dongwoo was the senior negotiator in that case, and his partner was … that girl he later dated. Was her name Heejung?”

“It was,” nodded Sunggyu again. “We won that competition too, I’m sure. I’m not trying to be too sappy when I say those were good times.”

Woohyun nodded his head, vigorously. “Good times in school. I didn’t even remember Dongwoo was there until you mentioned it again. I haven’t talked to him in a long time.”

“He’s doing well,” Sunggyu continued, though the conversation was not going where he had hoped. “I hear another chaebol has poached him away from Segye Geonsol, and he’s coming back here. He’s spent years overseas, and it would be good to have him back.”

“Maybe for a reunion?” Woohyun suggested. “You, me, Sungyeol, Myungsoo, Sungjong, Dongwoo, and Howon like old times sake? If we’re going to milk the nostalgia for what it’s worth, we might as well get the entire group together.”

Sunggyu agreed. “It really was the best when we were all together, right? It’s hard to believe that it was only for two years. It felt like we were one big family, even though we were all living apart. The two of us were living together when I was in my third year and you were in your second. Sungyeol and Myungsoo were living together. Sungjong, Dongwoo, and Howon were too smart to get involved in that dating mess.”

It was Woohyun’s turn to give a small, wistful smile. “Sungjong, Dongwoo, and Howon had an easier time. They only dated girls. You and Sungyeol dated girls too, though not as much.”

“Only you and Myungsoo stuck to the boys, didn’t you?” Sunggyu noted. “There are a few upsides to that, you know. Do you know how many times I’ve went on a date with a man or a woman and they ask me about my preference for the other sex? It gets annoying after a while.”

“Tragic,” said Woohyun with feigned sigh. “You take an interest in the entirety of the human race, and it’s such a burden for you. Do you remember how many men I asked out in my first year before I found a date? It must have been a dozen rejections.”

“And then me? I was your first serious long-term relationship.”

“Serious, long-term relationship in my adult life,” Woohyun answered. “I had two boyfriends in high school, remember? I must have told you. One just fizzled out, and the other ended when I started school.”

“How many dates did you go on before me?” Sunggyu said, almost mockingly.

“Like I said, it must have been a dozen. They were just dates over coffee. I’m not talking about hook-ups.”

“A dozen? I didn’t realize you had to lower your standards so much before we dated.”

“I’m sure I told you before.”

“We only dated two years,” scoffed Sunggyu. “I’m thirty-three now, and we started dating when I was nineteen. Do you remember everything you told me twelve years ago? Especially given how madly in love you were with me, at the time?”

Woohyun gave a laugh, and it was a pure clear sound his ears had not heard in some time. “I was in love, Sunggyu, but our relationship was not going to work out. We broke up for the better, and I have no regrets about what I did.”

“No regrets, Woohyun? You left me and married Sungyeol. He cheated on you. With hookers. Dozens of times. He had orgies with them,” Sunggyu said, his voice becoming heated. But there was nobody around whose presence would have interrupted them.

“Sunggyu, don’t play innocent. You cheated on me too,” Woohyun answered, his voice calm and cool. It was almost as if Sunggyu needed to be reminded of his own indiscretions.

“It was one time, with one girl, and then you broke up with me. The situations aren’t comparable.”

“Yes, it was one time, with one girl, but don’t forget that we had so many problems before that. I didn’t break up with you because you cheated on me. I broke up with you because it was the last straw in a relationship that had crashed and burned. Your actions told me that it was now time to move on, and showed me that there were other men out there who could treat me better,” Woohyun said. But even as he spoke, even as he was trying to sound vehement and angry, he knew his heart was not in his words. And it was because he knew what Sunggyu would say next.

“Other men? Like Sungyeol? He spent thousands of dollars on hookers, and some of it must have been your money too,” Sunggyu said, exactly as Woohyun had predicted.

“Sunggyu, what part of my words did you not understand then, and do not understand now? I’m over you. I’m not going to run into your arms just because I think of all the things that Sungyeol has done to me.”

“I understand perfectly,” Sunggyu said with the vehemence that Woohyun lacked. “Woohyun, look into my eyes and tell me something honestly. If you do it, I’ll never question your marriage again.”

Woohyun wanted to glare in response, but when he met Sunggyu’s eyes he was forced to take a gulp. Woohyun saw and resented the anger and indignation in Sunggyu’s eyes, but there was more than that: underneath, there was a thin layer of something more benign, and akin to concern. It was an emotion which Sunggyu had never shown him during work. Woohyun would once have given his life to feel Sunggyu’s care for him. Once.

“Go ahead.” He looked at Sunggyu’s eyes, if just briefly.

“Do you think Sungyeol cares more for you or for himself?”

“What question is this, Sunggyu? Every person has a desire for self-preservation—“

“Fine. Do you think Sungyeol cares more for his reputation and career or for you?”

Woohyun hesitated for just one second.

The next second, he was already speaking. “Of course Sungyeol cares more for me than his reputation and career.” And he spoke with such determination that an observer would have taken him at his word.

But the words rang hollow to the two of them, and Woohyun knew it, and Sunggyu knew it, and Woohyun knew that Sunggyu knew it. And Sunggyu was not finished.

“Then tell me, Woohyun, what’s Sungyeol doing every day going to and from the National Assembly like he’s done nothing wrong? Do you honestly think a man addicted to high-class whores is really innocent? He’s corrupt, Woohyun. He must be,” Sunggyu said, trying every few seconds to resume eye contact with Woohyun.

“Please, don’t bring politics into this,” retorted Woohyun. “Do you think that little of Sungyeol that you think he deserves to be in jail for five years? Especially when you compare his supposed crimes to what you did to me when we were dating? That concealment charge is a joke, based on the evidence presented and—“

“Okay, fine,” interrupted Sunggyu. “You’re approaching the issue as a lawyer. How about approaching the issue as a human being who has been wronged? Forget if he’s guilty or innocent from the legal point of view.”

“If we’re not talking about law and guilt, then corruption becomes a purely subjective term,” retorted Sunggyu.

“Again, there’s the lawyer speak. Let me go back to what I said earlier. He’s done wrong, to you. He’s a selfish egotist who goes on talk shows and interviews to talk about how he’s been politically persecuted. A person like him only cares for himself. He doesn’t deserve you, and you shouldn’t be with him.”

“Sunggyu, don’t tell me about who I should marry or date. This isn’t the first time you’ve tried this. This, this, this is what I mean, when I say that our relationships had many problems before we separated.”

Sunggyu sighed. “You’re not answering my question. Forget me, and forget our relationship. Pretend I’m Sungjong or Myungsoo or Dongwoo. If they asked you why you’re still with Sungyeol, what would you say?”

Woohyun was incredulous. “Why I’m still with Sungyeol? I’m married to him, in case you forgot. I said vows. In sickness, and in health. For better and for worse.”

“He broke those vows.” Sunggyu’s expression was smug.

“While I haven’t forgiven him, I’m still married to him.” Woohyun refused to give any concession.

“You said ‘married,’ Woohyun. Do you still love him?”

“Of. Course. Yes.” Woohyun said, through gritted teeth. “I wouldn’t be still be married if it was any other case.”

They had reached an impasse, again. Sunggyu was glaring, and Woohyun could not make eye contact.

It was Sunggyu who broke the silence, the same way he used to do over ten years ago.

“I’m going to do some work now,” he said, standing up again. “Reinergen might be done with the regulators, but the class-action plaintiffs are still foaming at the mouth. I have more to do. But I’m not worried. I won’t be in a courtroom any time soon, but your husband’s trial is coming up soon. And I’m sure it will be fun to watch.”

Sunggyu left in a huff after that, while Woohyun sat in the break room. And it wasn’t until well in the evening before Woohyun departed too, while Sunggyu sat working at his desk.

\---

“You look conflicted,” Myungsoo said. “Is it something with Sungyeol? Or work? Or both?”

Woohyun exhaled loudly, trying to uncork the bottle of red wine in his hand. He could easily have asked the restaurant’s sommelier to do it instead, but he wanted to remain as discreet as possible.

“Some days it’s hard to separate work and family,” Woohyun answered. “It’s one of my reasons I have for inviting you to dinner.”

The cork gave a pop as Woohyun separated it from the bottle. Woohyun poured half of a cup for himself first, and then for Myungsoo. The younger man took two sips to analyze the taste.

“It’s a good vintage,” Myungsoo said. “Full-bodied, with notes of oak and spice.”

“You and Sungyeol really are alike,” Woohyun said with a laugh. “There used to be a time in college when soju and beer were the only things I drank. Now there’s whisky and wine and cocktails to consider.”

“We could have gotten something more to your taste,” Myungsoo said with slight surprise.

“No, I’ve grown to like variety,” Woohyun said. “And that’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you. Myungsoo, you’re Sungyeol’s closest friend, right?”

Myungsoo paused, uncertain of where Woohyun was going with the conversation. “Yes,” he answered, but his answer sounded like a question. “Though you’re his husband, not me, if that means anything,” Myungsoo quickly interjected.

Woohyun paused. “I’m not sure it adds anything,” conceded the man. “Myungsoo, you’re my friend too, right?”

He had to pity the look of panic that flashed across Myungsoo’s face. The younger man nodded vigorously, despite his confusion. “Yes, Woohyun, but what is this about? Should we be talking about this with Sungyeol?”

“No, let’s not,” said Woohyun before raising his glass to his lips and taking a sip. “Just the two of us for now.”

“Then what did you want to talk to me about?” Myungsoo sounded eager. The man was about a year younger than Woohyun, but he seemed like a much younger man in many ways. Myungsoo may have been strikingly handsome, and a skilled bankruptcy attorney to boot, but he still had much of an innocent naivete.

“It’s about you and Sungyeol,” said Woohyun, cautiously. He didn’t want the younger man to immediately bolt, but this was a topic that would only set off alarm bells.

Myungsoo gave a quick, but cautious nod. “What about us?”

“Why did you break up with him? In college, before I dated him.”

Myungsoo’s eyes widened slightly, but he took a breath and responded. “He’s never told you?”

“He has told me something before. I just want to hear it from you.”

There was a pause for another second as Myungsoo thought on the question. To Woohyun’s surprise, Myungsoo gave a smile.

“We had a funny dynamic, Sungyeol and I. On one hand, we were alike, and we got along great, but on the other hand, we were sometimes too alike. Sungyeol used to joke that it was like dating himself. On the day we broke up, he said that dating me was like selfcest,” Myungsoo said. He paused as a waiter approached their table and brought their food. Afterwards, Myungsoo took a bite of his pasta and swallowed before he resumed talking.

“Sungyeol had his weird phases too. Before we separated, there was one time when he looked me in the eye and said ‘I want to be passionately in love.’ I think he liked me more as a friend than as a boyfriend,” Myungsoo continued, before blushing. “Though I won’t lie. As boyfriends, we did some things you can’t mention in public.”

It was Woohyun’s turn to laugh, even as he wondered whether he should be talking about this with his husband’s ex-boyfriend. “Did Sungyeol ever cheat on you?”

“Not that I know about, but I would be dishonest unless I talked about his roving eyes,” added Myungsoo. “But Sungyeol did his best to stay faithful, I think, and he would have told me if infidelity related to our breakup.”

Woohyun was too lost in his own thoughts to begin eating his plate of salmon, so he continued talking. He asked one of the chief questions he wanted to ask. “Why do you think he cheated on me then?”

The sense of resignation, rather than surprise, told Woohyun that Myungsoo had seen the question coming.

“If you want my perspective as his ex-boyfriend, then I think it was because he wanted your companionship, but he didn’t get it. I think he was lonely.”

Woohyun wanted to snap that Sungyeol could have had him any day of the week, but he chose not to voice his anger. He had wanted Myungsoo’s honesty, after all, so he remained silent as Myungsoo spoke.

“Sungyeol can be selfish, and sometimes he puts himself first at the expense of others, but I think he’s fundamentally good and honest. I think he loves you. Your marriage isn’t a sham. I hope you’ll stay with him, even if that makes me envious.”

“You seem to know how Sungyeol thinks.”

“I’ve spent a lot of time with him.”

“Then,” Woohyun said, still trying to move cautiously again, “do you think he’ll do the best for me, even if he damages or ruins his career?”

Myungsoo pursed his lips, furrowing his brow in thought. “It depends. Every person has an instinct to save himself. I think it would depend on the circumstances in each case.”

Woohyun nodded. “Then what do you think he would think about this?” And Woohyun told Myungsoo his plan.

\---

“You’ve been thinking about something the last few days or weeks, haven’t you?” Sungyeol said.

“It’s about something serious,” answered Woohyun. “It’s been incredibly difficult thinking about the issue, but there’s something I wanted to tell you.”

“About what?”

Woohyun tried to steel himself. This would be the biggest request he had ever asked from Sungyeol.

“It’s about your upcoming trial.”

“It’s in a month,” said Sungyeol glumly. “Attorney Seo says I’m going to win, but you know trials can be unpredictable.”

“I do, and that’s why I’m going to get straight to the point,” Woohyun said, even as he spoke slowly.

“Yes?” Sungyeol’s look only held confusion.

“Sungyeol, I want you to plead guilty.”


	11. Inevitable discovery

The two of them could only stare at each other for a few seconds. Sungyeol was more confused than surprised, while Woohyun’s frown showed resignation.  
  
“I don’t understand, Woohyun. You were adamant that I not resign, and that I defend my innocence. Why are you changing?” Sungyeol asked. His voice held hurt, and that hurt was directed at Woohyun, and that alone was painful to hear.  
  
Woohyun sighed. “I’ve been thinking about this for some time, but it wasn’t until today that I decided to go through with it. Sungyeol, I received a call yesterday from Representative Yoo. This week, the police will arrest Representatives Kim Hyemin, Han Jaeseong, and Kwon Hyunjoon in order to dismantle a larger bribery ring. Those three politicians are all from the opposition National Liberal Party. The evidence is serious enough and strong enough that they’re expected to resign shortly after their arrests. The ruling party will secure its majority and will have no more need for you.”  
  
Sungyeol continued to stare, processing the information and understanding. “They can throw me under the bus.”  
  
Woohyun ignored that statement, and continued speaking. “The party will no longer support you through a trial. Your calls are going to be ignored. Your colleagues will stop speaking to you. You will have no politician allies or friends to stand with you. You might even be expelled from the ruling party. I hope Howon at least will continue working for you, but I can’t even be sure of that. Now is the best time for you to reach a deal.”  
  
“But I didn’t do anything wrong,” Sungyeol protested, raising his voice, “and I can prove it in court.”  
  
For the first time, Woohyun didn’t care.  
  
“That’s not the point,” Woohyun said. He spoke loud and clear, not under his breath like he worried he would, and he looked Sungyeol in the eye as he did so.  
  
Sungyeol’s mouth dropped. “I don’t understand. If you know I’m innocent, how could you ask me to plead guilty?”  
  
“Because you hurt me!” Woohyun said, now raising his voice. Inside, he was quietly hoping he would get through this conversation without crying. At this rate though, he suspected it was a foolish hope. And he was glad Sungyeol understood the gravity of the situation, and remained silent, allowing Woohyun to keep talking.  
  
“First of all, Sungyeol, you are absolutely guilty of sleeping with prostitutes, and the prosecution was right to charge you for that,” started Woohyun. “And I know the prosecution needs to prove that charge beyond a reasonable doubt, but I do not want to sit in court and hear you claim that you’re not guilty of that.”  
  
He took a breath, before he continued speaking. “But more importantly, I don’t want to go through a trial,” he admitted with heartbreak. “I don’t want to hear what I heard in the preliminary hearing all over again. I’m a lawyer too, and I know what questions Prosecutor Park is allowed to ask those whores. She’ll ask ‘How much did Sungyeol pay you?’ and ‘Did he have any pet names for you?’ ‘How many orgies did you have?’ ‘Did you perform oral sex on him?’ ‘Anal sex?’ ‘How often did he climax?’ ‘What part of your body was his favorite?’ And I can’t bear to hear those answers four times.”  
  
Woohyun’s eyes were swelling, but the tears had yet to fall.  
  
“Sungyeol, you have to know that I’m being absolutely honest with you when I say that I love you, and I want to stay with you, but I don’t know if my heart could bear the pain again. That’s why I want you to think of me too. A plea bargain would spare me from further public humiliation.”  
  
Sungyeol had his eyes closed, breathing in and out with hardly a sound, as Woohyun continued to speak.  
  
“I’ve looked at options for a plea bargain. I don’t want you to make an open plea, where you plead guilty without any arrangement. If you plead guilty to all charges, the court would convict you on two felonies and a misdemeanor. What’s worse, the concealment charge is an automatic crime of moral turpitude. You’ll be expelled from the bar, and you’ll likely never practice law again.”  
  
Woohyun’s eyes were fixed on Sungyeol’s face, even as Sungyeol did not look back.  
  
“I’ve been researching this on my own, Sungyeol. You must plead guilty to the misdemeanor. And I honestly think Prosecutor Park will not let you get away with just that, but that will be a condition of any plea agreement for sure. And if you must plead guilty to a felony, it must be the official misconduct charge. You might still be expelled from the bar when the bar association files a disciplinary action, but you still have a chance.”  
  
Woohyun paused again, before he continued speaking.  
  
“You should tell Attorney Seo to contact Prosecutor Park. Of course, I hope she can get you the lightest sentence possible, but you must accept the possibility of much worse. Tell your lawyer that you’re willing to plead guilty to one felony and one misdemeanor,” Woohyun said, before trying to remain calm. “Even if it means you go to jail.”  
  
Sungyeol’s eyes snapped open, even though he only spoke one word. “Jail?”  
  
When Woohyun met Sungyeol’s eyes, he wanted to hate himself, but he couldn’t. Not now. Maybe never.  
  
“I don’t know if I can explain it, but you should be hoping for prison,” said Woohyun, now looking away. “I wouldn’t be able to leave you while you were in jail. I would need to stand by your side, and to make conjugal visits every weekend. But if you got a probation, and then something did drive us apart, it would be far easier to leave you.”  
  
“Woohyun?” The hesitation in Sungyeol’s voice carried enough doubt that words were unnecessary.  
  
“It won’t be the end, you know,” Woohyun answered. “Hell, there’s a small chance that you won’t even need to resign. The National Assembly would probably expel you if you plead guilty to official misconduct, but maybe not. You’d be able to serve as a politician even if you’re on probation. And even if you were expelled, you might still be able to practice law. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. We’d make it through, together.”  
  
“You really would, Woohyun, you would really stay with me?” Sungyeol asked.  
  
“Based on what I know now, I would,” said Woohyun, feeling his throat grow hoarse. He was suddenly feeling tired, now that he made the request to Sungyeol that he had planned.  
  
“Why?”  
  
Woohyun took his time to think. There were so many reasons he could have listed: _Because you were my friend. Because you stood by me when I was hurt, after I broke up from Sunggyu. Because you were able to look past the circumstances of my birth and upbringing. Because you are a wildly intelligent, funny, and witty man. Because you didn’t care about being seen with me. Because you were willing to marry me, unlike Sunggyu. Because you provided me with care and companionship during our marriage._ But he said none of those reasons.

  
“Because I love you.”

  
\---

  
“Department 3 is now in session, and everyone will be seated,” said Judge Kwak, looking at the scene before her. “Seo Hyunkyung for the defense and Park Soonhye for the prosecution are both present. I understand that the parties have reached a plea agreement, where the defendant Lee Sungyeol will plead guilty to one of the charges against him, in return for a reduced sentence and the dismissal of the other charges.”

  
Attorney Seo was sitting with Sungyeol at the defendant’s table, while Prosecutor Park was alone at the prosecution table. In the courtroom’s gallery was a throng of spectators. Woohyun sat as close to Sungyeol as possible. Myungsoo and Sungjong, as Sungyeol’s friends, were sitting to Woohyun’s left. Howon sat one row back. Even Dongwoo and Sunggyu were there as well. Dongwoo had just returned from overseas, making it in time even if he hadn’t spoken to Sungyeol in years. Sunggyu was in the far back, utterly silent.

  
Attorney Seo and Prosecutor Park both answered in the affirmative to the judge’s question.

  
“In that case, in order to take the guilty plea, I will now proceed with the plea colloquy. The deposition will be first. Representative Lee, please take the stand,” said the judge.

  
Lee Sungyeol took the oath and was sworn in, and the judge asked him the questions necessary for taking a guilty plea.

  
“What is your name?” The judge began. The colloquy had to follow a script, no matter how ridiculous it sounded.

  
“Lee Sungyeol,” Sungyeol answered.

  
“How old are you?”

  
“Thirty-two years old.”

  
“What is your education?”

  
“I graduated from Yeonsoong University.”

  
The judge began asking her colloquy questions in a rote manner, and Sungyeol answered all in the affirmative.

  
“Are you currently of sound mind? Do you understand the meaning of the questions I am asking you? Did you sign the plea agreement that I currently have in my hands? Did you read the plea agreement before signing it? Did you understand it? Do you understand the criminal charge in question?"

  
The next part of the colloquy involved the rights that Sungyeol would waive. Again, Sungyeol answered in the affirmative to all of the judge’s questions.

  
“Do you understand that pleading guilty to this charge has the same legal effect as being convicted by a jury? Do you understand that by pleading guilty, you waive your right to counsel at a trial? Are you satisfied with the performance of your attorney in this matter? Do you understand that by pleading guilty, you are waiving your right to a jury trial? Do you understand that by pleading guilty, you are waiving your right not to testify? Do you understand that by pleading guilty, you are waiving your right to confront adverse witnesses? Do you understand that by pleading guilty, you are waiving your right to subpoena witnesses in your own defense? Do you understand that by pleading guilty, you are waiving your right to the presumption of innocence?"

  
Once that part was done, it was time to discuss the sentence.

  
“Do you understand that by pleading guilty, you can be sentenced to the maximum sentence for the charge as listed in the plea agreement? The agreement currently lists a two-year term of probation.”

  
“Yes.”

  
“Knowing about the rights you are choosing to give up as well as the potential consequences, do you still wish to make a plea at this time?”

  
“Yes.”

  
“As part of the plea, you must now provide a factual basis for your plea.”

  
“Yes, Your Honor.” Sungyeol was sitting in the witness stand, but he had the chance to turn and face the entire courtroom. And he admitted, in open court, about his wrongs. “Over the past two years, I procured the services of four prostitutes at the High Rollers VIP escort agency. I was a member of the National Assembly at the time, and I obtained these services despite my government title. In doing so, I performed an act that I knew was illegal. I’m sorry, and I ask my husband to forgive me.”

  
Wooyun would have been dishonest if he said it didn’t hurt to hear about the infidelity one more time, but he knew it would be the last time. The prosecution’s case would be closed, and due to double jeopardy they could never charge Sungyeol for these crimes again. None of those four whores would ever sit in that witness box and talk about how they fucked Sungyeol. It was a relief, Woohyun told himself, in addition to protecting him and Sungyeol.

  
“Therefore, defendant Lee Sungyeol, how do you plead to the misdemeanor charge of soliciting prostitution?”

  
“Guilty.”

  
“In that case, I find that defendant Lee Sungyeol’s guilty plea was made freely, voluntarily, and intelligently. I also find that there is a factual basis for the plea. Counsel, do you wish for sentencing now?”

  
Both lawyers answered in the affirmative.

  
“Good. Then in the case of CQ-0078-20, I hereby sentence the defendant Lee Sungyeol to a sentence of two years of probation. The defendant must obey all laws, follow all court orders, report regularly to a probation officer, and fulfill all other conditions of probation. Does anybody have anything additional to add?”

  
Both lawyers declined to answer.

  
“In that case, I order that Lee Sungyeol report immediately to the Ministry of Justice’s Department of Probation. Court is now in recess.” The judge banged her gavel once. And it was finished.

  
\---

  
“So what does this mean for us?”

  
Sungyeol and Woohyun were alone in their house. Sungyeol had originally suggested that if he went to trial and was acquitted, the two of them should hold a grand celebration. But Sungyeol had plead guilty. He was now a criminal. It was no time for celebration.

  
“I don’t know,” Woohyun said, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure I’m ready to forgive you. I think I will,” he admitted, both to himself and to Sungyeol, “but I don’t think I’m there yet.”

  
Sungyeol gave a nod. “So we’ll still live apart.”

  
Woohyun nodded. “And I’ll keep going to work. It’s fun, you know. Ten years ago, I hated working as a lawyer, so we agreed that I didn’t need to work. But maybe I should have just found a good company. SLG is a good place to work.”

  
“Maybe you should have started years before,” Sungyeol said, eyes downcast. “I hope you’re not thinking that I held back your legal career.”

  
Woohyun smiled, putting his hand on Sungyeol’s knee. “No, that was never a problem. Most men don’t get to be treated as a pampered house husband.”

  
“Your family’s so wealthy you didn’t need to work,” murmured Sungyeol. “It’s you who provided for me, not the other way around. There’s no way we could have afforded this house on my government salary.”

  
“No, but it’s the dream house we wanted, right?” Woohyun thought. “It’d be a waste if you didn’t live in it.”

  
Sungyeol nodded sympathetically. “And what would I need to do before I could come back here?”

  
Woohyun was forced to stop to think. He had been so focused on defending Sungyeol and doing what was best for his husband that he never stopped to think about what he should do after the trial was over. “I don’t know. I honestly never thought about it.”

  
“We’re both working. You’ll be a lawyer, and I’ll probably stay in the legislature. Howon is making sure that I don’t resign. He says I can weather this debacle. But if I don’t,” said Sungyeol, “I hope there’s a law firm out there where I could work.”

  
Woohyun shook his head. “You might have survived the courts, but that doesn’t mean you’ll survive the bar association.”

  
“Facing the bar association can’t be harder than facing Park Soonhye,” Sungyeol scoffed.

  
The name of the prosecutor reminded Woohyun of something. He was going to have to confront her some time. He would need to find out who exactly exposed Sungyeol’s infidelity to the world, and make them wish that Sungyeol’s affairs had remained a private issue between the two men.

  
“Woohyun. Woohyun. You’re blanking out there,” Sungyeol said, looking amused.

  
Woohyun responded with a look of mock outrage. “I did not,” and the two of them shared a laugh.

  
After that brief moment was over, Sungyeol reached over to give Woohyun a kiss on the cheek.

“I know I disappointed you,” he added with a glum whisper. “Tell me how to make up for it, and I will.” He burrowed his face against Woohyun’s neck for a moment.

  
Woohyun only murmured something to himself, not speaking out loud. And then he gave Sungyeol a kiss on the temple. “It’s late. Go home safe.”

  
Sungyeol then left, and there was quiet.

  
\---

  
“You really did come here to gloat, didn’t you?” The prosecutor gave a laugh. “That’s why you called me here to this bar. It’s upscale, I’ll give it that, and not far from the good neighborhoods in Changdong.”

  
“Park Soonhye,” Woohyun said with an insincere smile, “I really don’t think you understand the trouble you’re facing. I expect you to beg for mercy. I could destroy you.”

  
The prosecutor gave an exaggerated frown and shrugged her shoulders. There was no trace of fear in her voice. She was cocky, Woohyun thought, like Sungyeol during his career as a prosecutor. “It’d be difficult, you know. Do you think I chose to charge your husband because I wanted fame and glory? No, Nam Woohyun, the decision goes higher up than that.”

  
“You’d be taking a risk. I assume you like being a prosecutor and a lawyer?” Woohyun answered, equally cool.

  
“It’s wonderful, I agree. I hear you’re doing the same too, at SLG.” She responded, trying to divert attention back towards Woohyun. “Speaking of SLG, I hear rumors that your firm is involved in some political corruption. There’s this huge deal where—” And then Prosecutor Park paused, looking surprised. “You played me!”

  
It was Woohyun’s turn to give a smug smile and pretend ignorance. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  
“That’s why you had Sungyeol cut the deal! You knew that Representatives Kim Hyemin, Han Jaeseong, and Kwon Hyunjoon, along with all their cronies, were going to be arrested this week. That’s why you were so eager to cut a deal with me! I should have known.”

  
“A deal requires two parties. You were eager to make a deal as well. You knew that there was no evidence of official misconduct, or any other crimes, but you kept telling the judge that more evidence would be revealed at trial.”

  
The prosecutor scoffed. Instead of answering directly, she responded with a question. “How do you know such information, anyways?”

  
Woohyun gave an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders. “I am the son of a President, as well as the son of a former Minister of Justice. Supreme Court justices attended my wedding. I’ve played golf with government ministers. I know people.”

  
Prosecutor Park sighed, realizing her own hubris. “You really are right. I’m taking a risk. Not a huge one, but not necessarily one I’d like to take.” She brought a briefcase up to the cocktail table. “Which is why I’ll make a deal with you too. Nam Woohyun, I’ll let you know details of the police investigation that never made it to court. In return, you won’t try to destroy my career. We both win.”

  
Woohyun wanted to roll his eyes. “Whatever’s in that briefcase can’t be worse than what I heard in court. And it can’t be admissible, or you would have charged Sungyeol for it. You’re bluffing.”

  
Prosecutor Park put up a hand, in a gesture of magnanimity. “Nam Woohyun. I’ll be gracious and I’ll tell you what’s in here. You see, you’re right. What’s in here could not have been proven in court. It didn’t meet the threshold for criminal conduct. But you might want to hear.”

  
Woohyun raised an eyebrow. “You are cocky, aren’t you? Well, go on.”

  
The woman put a hand to her chest. “I’d be pleased to explain. We began the investigation almost a year ago, and I was getting nowhere, so I sought a warrant from Judge Kim. The one in Department 10, not Department 8. Do you know how difficult it was? It was like pulling teeth.”

  
The look of skepticism on Woohyun’s face told her to get to the point, so she continued speaking. “Anyways, I obtained a warrant to wiretap Lee Sungyeol’s cell phones. And that was when we uncovered evidence that he committed five different affairs. We only confirmed the identity of four prostitutes, so we only accused him of sleeping with four prostitutes.”

  
Woohyun straightened his back, suddenly intrigued. Sungyeol had, after all, confessed to having two one-night stands, and he had never discussed it with Woohyun in detail. The prosecutor could in fact have information he wanted to hear.

  
“Go on,” Woohyun said, his eyes cold.

  
“So our deal is set?” Prosecutor Park asked, hopeful.

  
“You’ll need to tell me what you know, and I’ll decide if you’re credible or not,” answered Woohyun. “If you tell me the truth, then you’ll be safe for now.” The woman seemed satisfied with that response.

  
“Well, then,” she said, opening her briefcase. She handed several papers to Woohyun. “These are the print-outs of his text messages to the five, which he later deleted. It was rather hard to find: the texts were on a phone registered in Lee Howon’s name, but you’d need to be stupid to think Howon was sending and receiving these messages. Look at the labels. Sungyeol used code-words based on birds, instead of listing the whore’s name in the contacts. Miss Kim was ‘Crane’, Miss Roh was ‘Hummingbird’, Mr. Choi was ‘Osprey’ and Mr. Bae was ‘Bluebird.’ Sungyeol didn’t give himself a name, so we called him ‘VIP’.”

  
Woohyun quickly scanned the text of the documents. Far from being anything salacious, the texts read instead like appointments listed in a day-planner.

  
_VIP: Meet at Legislative Assembly Office, Friday 4 PM._

  
_Osprey: Done. Special requests regarding clothing/hair/etc?_

  
_VIP: Formal wear to get in the building._

  
From another day was more of the same.

  
_VIP: Meet at the hotel at Main and Second Street, tomorrow 8 PM._

_  
Bluebird: Any other accommodations requested?_

  
_VIP: Bring full equipment and protective gear._

  
The texts carried innuendo, Woohyun realized, but they were dry and clinical. Hardly the stuff of a heady affair. He said as much to the prosecutor. “This is boring.”

  
The woman gave a dismissive nod of her head. “And that brings me to affair number five. These texts were from approximately three years ago, shortly before he even met any of the other whores.”

  
These texts were nothing like Sungyeol’s communication with the whores.

  
_VIP: I want you badly, and I’ve been thinking of you. This hasn’t been the case for me in years._

  
_(Name withheld): What if Woohyun finds out?_

  
_VIP: It’s a possibility. I don’t want to hurt him, but you know him. He’s Woohyun. And there’s so much I’d like to do to you. Like put my hands on your—_

  
Woohyun skipped reading the rest of an extremely explicit sentence. At least he knew Sungyeol’s fifth affair was with a man.

  
_VIP: And maybe you’d suck—_

  
He didn’t bother with that sentence either.

  
_VIP: Or I could suck your—_

  
Or that one.

  
Prosecutor Park was smirking. “I’m not a religious person, and neither is Sungyeol, but let’s be real. Some of those things he discusses are downright sinful. I have a husband too, and I felt like I was cheating on him just from reading those texts.”

  
Woohyun ignored her, as he flipped through some more pages to find something that indicated concrete action.

  
_VIP: I can make sure Woohyun doesn’t find out._

  
_(Name withheld): I don’t want to hurt Woohyun either. But if you’re sure, then we can give this a try. As long as he doesn’t find out._

  
The next messages in the file were from a week later.

  
_VIP: That was mind-blowing._

  
_(Name withheld): Best I’ve ever had. But it’s your choice where, or if, this relationship goes from here._

  
_VIP: Actually, I think once was enough. There’s no way we could continue this without hurting Woohyun._

  
_(Name withheld): You’re right. I don’t want to hurt him either. Let’s just make this a one-time thing._

  
_VIP: I agree. We’ll never talk about this again. I’ve found something else anyways._

  
Woohyun’s hands shook as he set down the page. This wasn’t weakness, or an accident. It was malice. It was meticulous. And it was the worst thing that he had ever read.

  
Sungyeol had said that he had two one-night stands, but this didn’t show a one-night stand. It showed a long, emotionally-charged relationship that culminated in coitus only once.

  
It showed a lie.

  
Sungyeol lied.

  
Lied to him.

  
And more than that, there was something familiar about these messages, but Woohyun couldn’t even think straight as his eyes scanned and read the texts over and over again.

  
“Do you know,” he asked, his voice on the edge of cracking, “who sent these texts?”

  
The prosecutor looked nonchalant, as if she paid no attention to Woohyun’s agony. “We never found out the person’s name. Sungyeol broke the pattern in naming, though. All of the whores were given names based on birds.”

  
“And this man?” Woohyun asked, and it felt like the prosecutor’s relaxed pose was mocking him. He had come here to exult, and here he sat, utterly ruined and destroyed.

  
“His name was L, like the letter. Weird, right? What type of name is that? Anyways—wait! Nam Woohyun, where are you going? You can’t just walk away! We had a deal! Come back here!”

  
\---

  
He was too lost in his shock to think. Thinking hurt. Even breathing hurt.

  
He was standing in front of Sunggyu’s apartment. Did he walk here from his meeting with Prosecutor Park? He had walked to the bar from home. Did he go back home and drive here?  
His suit was torn. Did he rip it himself? His tie was gone too. Did it snag somewhere?

  
He reached a hand up to his face, and felt that his face was wet. Had he been crying? It wasn’t raining outside. Was his nose running?

  
There was a doorbell, so he rung it. It was nine in the evening. And it was Friday night. Sunggyu worked hard, but he didn’t make SLG his life, did he? Sunggyu should be home right now.

No response. It was a Friday night, after all. Even Sunggyu had to have a social life. Maybe the man was having fun at a bar. What if he was at the bar from before? What if Sunggyu was with Prosecutor Park? Sunggyu had dated a prosecutor before. No, that thought was paranoia.

  
What was he going to do if Sunggyu didn’t answer? He couldn’t go home. Home reminded him of Sungyeol. Sungyeol’s name was on the deed, even though his husband had moved out. Maybe he could go to a hotel. Maybe some alcohol could help tide him over, just for one night. But had he been drinking at the bar already?

  
There was the sound of some movement inside, followed by silence. It didn’t sound like a person moving, though. Sunggyu didn’t have any pets, or he would have noticed from the last time he was here. Maybe there was a dog or cat moving in one of the other apartments.

  
Nothing was happening. Should he ring the doorbell again? Maybe Sunggyu was on the phone. Or watching a movie. Or was the man asleep? He rang the doorbell again.

  
Sunggyu opened the door, standing there in an undershirt and sweatpants. “Woohyun, what’s wrong?”

  
He knew the answer in his head. _My husband cheated on me with his best friend and he lied about it to my face, even though I’ve done so much for him, and loved him for so long and he’s utterly ruined me and it all hurts_ , he could have said. But those weren’t the words that came out of his mouth.

  
“Everything.” Woohyun answered.

  
\---

  
He didn’t need to say anything more. Sunggyu stepped past the threshold of the door, putting his arms around Woohyun and pulling tight.The two of them said nothing, just embracing each other for the first time in ten years. It was familiar, and therefore comforting.

Nothing about Sunggyu’s body seemed to have changed, Woohyun thought, as he buried his face against the crook of Sunggyu’s neck. The scent of Sunggyu’s hair, the sound of Sunggyu’s breathing, even the warmth of Sunggyu’s skin against his cheeks. Sunggyu’s arms were around his shoulder, and the other man was murmuring something comforting against him.

  
Woohyun didn’t know how long it was before Sunggyu finally pulled away and welcomed him into the apartment, but it was nowhere long enough to heal his heart. He followed Sunggyu inside, seating himself on the sofa, continuing to wipe the tears off of his face every few seconds. His nose was running, and Woohyun was wiping it with the sleeve of a silk suit that cost far too much to be used as tissue, but he just didn’t care right now.

  
Sunggyu sat next to him and saw that, grabbing a piece of tissue paper and cleaning the dirt and filth from Woohyun’s face. He still didn’t say anything, only murmuring to himself, until Woohyun looked more presentable.

  
“What happened, Woohyun?” Sunggyu said softly, reaching out to hold Woohyun’s hand in one of his.

  
Woohyun openly spilled every secret, every longing, and every desire he had accumulated over his marriage that night.

  
“Sungyeol cheated on me,” Woohyun said first. It was a stupid thing to say. Sunggyu knew that well enough, but said nothing.

  
“I know,” Sunggyu said, squeezing Woohyun’s hand for comfort. “But you knew about those whores for months now.”

  
“No,” said Woohyun, through clenched teeth. “Sungyeol fucked Myungsoo.”

“What!” Sunggyu’s eyes went wide. “How do you know?”

“I saw the text messages,” said Woohyun, thankfully holding back tears for a second. “Sungyeol and Myungsoo. They planned their entire affair. They fucked each other behind my back, and they pretend like it never happened. Sungyeol’s my husband, Sunggyu, and I thought Myungsoo was my friend. It hurts even worse than the whores.”

  
“Woohyun, I’m sorry to hear this,” said Sunggyu, carefully cleaning his ex-boyfriend’s face with another tissue.

  
“After I found out about the orgies, I told Sungyeol to be completely honest with me. He told me that he cheated on me six times. Six! And he said the other two times, besides the whores, were one-night stands, and that he didn’t even know their names. He lied, that fucking bastard. He fucked his best friend, my friend, and lied about it to my face,” Woohyun said. He didn’t even have it within him to yell. That would have hurt too much.

  
“I’m sorry,” Sunggyu said softly, before embracing Woohyun again. “I know it must hurt.”

  
Woohyun leaned into Sunggyu, still crying. “I don’t know if I have anyone. Myungsoo betrayed me, Howon must have known about this, and Sungjong would take Sungyeol’s side. You’re the only friend I have who isn’t also Sungyeol’s friend.” He felt Sunggyu’s hand against the back of his head, gently brushing his hair.

  
“What are you going to do now? Are you going to leave him?”

  
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” said Woohyun. “It hurts so much right now because I love him. If I didn’t care about him any more, I wouldn’t be upset.” And it was true. It would be so easy to leave Sungyeol, yet why couldn’t he do it?

  
“Woohyun, you should leave him. He cheated on you, so you need to—” Sunggyu was cut off when Woohyun pulled away.

  
“Sunggyu, I came to you because you’re the only friend I have right now, but I still remember what went wrong in our relationship, and I do not want you dictating my life again,” Woohyun said through gritted teeth, and for just a second his mind was distracted from Sungyeol, but the look of guilt on Sunggyu’s face instantly made Woohyun feel sick with regret.

  
And Sunggyu realized this too.

“I’m sorry. I won’t tell you how to live your life.”

  
“But still, don’t go,” and now it was Woohyun’s turn to reach out his hand. “I’m really glad you’re here for me right now. It’s just been such a hard marriage. I thought it was difficult almost a year ago, when Sungyeol’s name was leaked to the press as a client to prostitutes, and I thought it was hard when he was arrested, and when those whores revealed Sungyeol had orgies I was beyond myself, but this hurts more than all of those.” His fists were clenched, as he stared down at his lap. “I just ask myself what I could have done for him instead. Was it because he was at work all day? Should I cooked for him more? Fucked him more? Should I have been better in bed? I don’t know, Sunggyu. I’ve done everything.”

  
“Woohyun, don’t blame yourself,” said Sunggyu. “It’s not your fault.”

  
“But it feels like it, to me,” rasped Woohyun. “I don’t know any more.”

  
“Do you still love him?” Sunggyu asked, still hesitant.

  
“That’s the thing,” said Woohyun, even as Sunggyu was wiping away more tears. “I want to love him, but I don’t think he loves me.”

  
“And what are you going to do about it?” Sunggyu asked.

  
Something in Woohyun’s head cleared up in that second. He no longer wanted cry, he realized as he wiped his face one last time and cleared his nose. He looked Sunggyu in the eyes and spoke.

  
“I’m going to have an affair, and you’re going to help me.”

  
And then he pressed his mouth against Sunggyu’s, and the other man made a muffled noise of surprise as their faces were pushed together. But soon Sunggyu realized what was happening, and his mouth opened for Woohyun’s tongue, and then their hands were on each other’s bodies.

  
Some little voice in Woohyun’s head would once have told him that what he was doing was wrong, but that voice wasn’t speaking right now.

  
\---

  
“How do you want it?” Sunggyu asked, brow furrowed, as he unbuttoned Woohyun’s dress shirt and tossed it aside. He gently pushed the shorter man onto the bed before removing his own undershirt and sweatpants.

  
“Every way that those whores fucked Sungyeol,” said Woohyun, more angry than humorous.

  
Sunggyu raised an eyebrow. “Then that’s every way imaginable.”

  
In response, Woohyun shot a glare at him, and Sunggyu decided that his humor was unnecessary.

  
He didn’t come up with this plan because he was in love with Sunggyu, Woohyun thought, and he was fully aware that he was using Sunggyu to get back at his husband. But he didn’t care if Sunggyu objected to that. If Sunggyu didn’t want him, he could ask him to leave.

Sunggyu gave a small yelp as Woohyun undressed completely, removing his undershirt and his pants.

  
“You look the way I remember,” Sunggyu said, face turning red at the familiar sight of taut and defined muscles.

  
Woohyun nodded with a small hum. “I do a lot of yoga, and futsal. Like I’ve told you before, you should give it a try. It keeps you flexible.”

  
Sunggyu quickly prepared himself with a condom and bottle of lubricant, and then he confidently climbed onto the bed as well. Woohyun was underneath him, lying on his back, looking up at Sunggyu without smiling.

  
“I haven’t seen you like this in a while,” Sunggyu admitted. He bent down slowly, pressing his mouth against Woohyun’s collarbones, making small bites against the skin. “It’s a good sight to see. Are you going to let see me it often?”

  
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Woohyun answered, reaching around to grab Sunggyu’s waist.

“Was that a no?” Sunggyu said with a smirk, and Woohyun could tell that Sunggyu thought he was in control. The other man was still crouched above him, his handsome face still visible in the dim light.

  
“It’s a good question,” Woohyun said in response, looking at Sunggyu and actually smiling. “It depends on whether you’re worth my time.”

  
Sunggyu was smiling too. For the first time in over ten years, they were sharing a smile with each other, knowing what the other was thinking. Maybe he did like Sunggyu, Woohyun thought to himself, but it didn’t really matter right now. And then Sunggyu entered him for the first time that night, and Woohyun responded by wrapping his legs around the small of the other man’s back, and he was no longer thinking that thought.

  
And he didn’t think about it when they shifted into the next position some time later, with Sunggyu lying back on the bed while Woohyun straddled him, moving his hips up and down.

  
Nor did Woohyun think about it when he was on his hands and knees, faced pressed against the mattress, while biting at the pillowcase to prevent himself from screaming obscenities.

  
And he certainly didn’t mention it when he was bent over the side of the mattress, with Sunggyu behind him, one hand on Woohyun’s shoulder and the other hand grabbing at Woohyun’s hair, tugging lightly by the roots.

  
Nor did he have the capacity to form any thoughts when he and Sunggyu were on their sides, the other man’s tongue between his shoulder blades, while Woohyun could barely restrain himself from waking all of Sunggyu’s neighbors.

  
But he did say it once, when they were almost finished, when he was seated upright in Sunggyu’s lap, the other man’s face pressed against his. Sunggyu’s hands were tangled in his hair while Woohyun’s nails were raking Sunggyu’s shoulders.

  
“I like you,” Woohyun managed to stammer. He was panting so hard his breath would have been visible if the lighting was better.

  
“Are you sure?” Sunggyu asked. There was gentle skepticism in his voice, but not cynicism.

  
Woohyun didn’t answer that question at the time, as he climaxed a half-second later. Sunggyu followed shortly later, while burying his face against Woohyun’s chest.

  
As soon as Sunggyu was finished, Woohyun pulled himself away from the other man. He looked at Sunggyu, shook his head without a word, and then curled onto his side to fall asleep. He didn’t care if Sunggyu realized he was just pretending to sleep, but the other main paid him no attention. Woohyun heard Sunggyu leave the bed for the bathroom, and he fell asleep soon afterwards, listening to the sounds of Sunggyu in the shower.

  
There was so much to think about, and so much to talk about, but it would need to wait. At least till the morning.

  
\---

  
Woohyun was up first the next day. He had a headache, but no nausea. If he was having a hangover, it was an extremely mild one. The surroundings were dark, but Woohyun could tell from the closed blinds that it was bright outside. He sat upright, to look at his surroundings.

  
Sunggyu was naked next to him, underneath the covers, and sleeping softly. Woohyun quietly got to his feet, moving quietly on the carpeted floor. He made his way to the bathroom. It was still too early to think, so he got himself ready for the day.

  
He showered first, and then decided he might as well use Sunggyu’s towel, and when he brushed his teeth, he went ahead and used Sunggyu’s toothbrush too. After all, he had already explored every nook and cranny of Sunggyu’s mouth with his tongue last night, so what was the harm?

  
Woohyun’s clothes from last night were strewn across the living room, so Woohyun tossed them in a laundry hamper and dressed himself in Sunggyu’s clothing, putting on a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Sunggyu was still asleep after Woohyun made himself ready, so he left the bedroom.

  
He didn’t feel like cooking, eating, or drinking, so he only poured himself a glass of water and sat on the sofa. He opened the blinds, and saw it must have been almost noon already.

  
No work today. No family issues. No Myungsoo. No Sunggyu. No Sungyeol. Just Woohyun, sitting alone, even as his ex-boyfriend stirred softly one room away.

  
The silence became unbearable, so Woohyun turned on the television. Some Saturday morning talk show host was just getting finished with her show. From the other room, Woohyun heard Sunggyu stir awake and make his way to the bathroom. When Sunggyu did emerge, he appeared in the doorway to the living room.

  
“Is it still morning?” Sunggyu spoke first. His voice was groggy.

  
“In a few minutes it would will be noon,” answered Woohyun, without turning to make eye contact. Sunggyu retreated back to his bedroom to get changed.

 _Am I feeling what Sungyeol felt when he first cheated on me?_ Woohyun asked himself. _Because I don’t feel anything. I feel glad that I talked to Sunggyu, but don’t feel better because I slept with him. And given how sore I am, I might be physically worse off than yesterday._

  
So Woohyun sat there, wondering if he was going to have a long talk with Sunggyu about what their relationship had become, and where it would go from here.

  
As it turned out, that talk would need to wait for a later day.

  
“Breaking news,” announced the TV announcer for the noontime news. Woohyun’s ears piqued up slightly, to see if there was something major.

  
“This just in, reporting from the capital,” said the TV announcer, reading from his teleprompter. “The country’s political scene has just been shocked. Three major opposition politicians and their associates have just been arrested. Representatives Kim Hyemin, Han Jaeseong, and Kwon Hyunjoon from the National Liberal Party were taken into custody at their respective homes.”

  
The news program showed a sequence of the three politicians being arrested: Kim Hyemin, heavyset and intimidating, her face obscured by her scarf; Han Jaeseong, thin and elderly, looking confused as a crowd of reporters surrounded him; and Kwon Hyunjoon, overweight and belligerent, hurling epithets at the police officers who had him by the arm.

  
Woohyun had never seen Sunggyu run so fast as when the other man burst into the living room. “What did the news say?” Sunggyu’s expression held inarticulate panic.

  
“They were arrested,” Woohyun said, confused at Sunggyu’s response. He pointed at the images on the screen.

  
“Shit.” Sunggyu cursed, looked at the television, and ran back into his bedroom. In a matter of seconds, the man was already dressed to go out, and Woohyun had no idea why.

  
“Wait, Sunggyu, where are you going? We have to talk about last night,” Woohyun said, now getting up from his chair. “And what our relationship has become.”

  
“I don’t know where I’m going, but I need to be out of here,” the older man said, quickly putting on a jacket. “Be sure to lock the door behind you if you leave before I come back.”

  
“Sunggyu, wait, come back,” said Woohyun, but the man was rushing towards the door.

  
And when Sunggyu opened the door, there were two policemen standing there.

  
“Kim Sunggyu,” said the older policeman, flatly, “we have a warrant for your arrest.”

  
“What did I do?” Sunggyu’s voice held no surprise, only dread and expectation.

  
“You really don’t remember?” The younger policeman asked with a sarcastic snarl. “You bribed judges on behalf of Representative Kim Hyemin.” He grabbed Sunggyu by the arm and spun him around. There were handcuffs around Sunggyu’s wrists without another word.

  
“Kim Sunggyu, you are under arrest for bribery,” said the older policeman, though the man seemed bored rather than indignant. “You have the right to remain silent, and you are not obligated to say or do anything unless you wish to do so. However, anything you say or do may be given in evidence against you. You have the right to assistance from an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to represent you during the questioning at no cost.”

  
Sunggyu only had to look at Woohyun for a second, and the younger man understood the meaning in the look.

  
“I’ll get you a lawyer,” Woohyun said with a nod.

  
And then Sunggyu was gone too, marched off into police custody.

  
It was a fine day outside, bright and airy.

  
Woohyun was alone, then, when he picked up his phone and made a call.

  
\---

  
_**END OF PART ONE** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a few things to announce:
> 
> First, there will be no updates to this story until at least late January or early February. I can update faster, but I’ve spent so much time on this story that I want to work on other works instead.
> 
> Second, I had originally planned this story out in three overarching arcs. However, I may condense the story from three parts to two, depending on how many people are interested in the story, and whether readers want a longer or shorter story.
> 
> Third, I have planned an ending in mind, but I have not written it yet. The story will have a resolution regarding Woohyun’s ultimate choice
> 
> Fourth, I’ve been considering whether I should get a Tumblr or Twitter account to communicate with other readers and writers. I’ll put the idea under consideration.
> 
> Fifth, I hope everybody has a happy new year and looks forward to what I write in 2017.


	12. Right to silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took slightly longer than I expected. I hope that I've maintained the same quality that readers have come to expect.

It was quiet again in Sunggyu’s apartment. The sun was shining outside. The skies were clear.

And Woohyun had no idea that the country’s largest scandal was going on around him. All he could think of, at that moment, was Sunggyu. Sunggyu, the man he had once loved, and the man he had just slept with, being lead away in handcuffs with barely a word.

Woohyun’s eyes were glued to the television as he watched the newscaster announce the situation that was going on.

“Three politicians from the National Assembly had just been arrested for bribery, all considered to be senior members of their National Liberal Party. Prosecutors remain tight-lipped, but they plan to announce some details soon,” said the announcer, before pausing. “I have just received word. The Prosecutor-General is holding a live press conference to explain the recent developments.”

The screen then panned to a press conference, with a tall, middle-aged woman in a pantsuit standing in front of a row of microphones while camera flashes illuminated the stage.

“The Prosecutor-General’s office has just taken the first step in a massive campaign to eliminate corruption. Today, a grand jury returned indictments against Representatives Kim Hyemin, Han Jaeseong, and Kwon Hyunjoon, as well as eighteen of their associates,” said the Prosecutor-General, Na Haekyung, reading from a prepared statement. “The three Representatives facilitated a bribery ring where they received bribes from prominent politicians and businessmen. They then proceeded to act as brokers, bribing judges for favorable judgments in pending litigation. Upon completion, the politicians then received kickbacks equal to a large percentage of the ensuing civil judgments. They were assisted in this racket by twelve lawyers and three lobbyists.”

“Prosecutor-General,” said one journalist at the live press conference. “Can you name the politicians and businessmen, and will they be indicted?”

“I can name them, yes,” said the Prosecutor-General. “The prosecution has summoned Koh Ji-oh, CEO of Ryeongjae Pharmaceuticals; Joo Yanghong, Representative from the National United Democratic Party; and Moon Bumki, Chairman of Ohjin Industries for questioning. Others may follow. Indictments are expected soon.”

Woohyun’s eyes went up in shock. Ryeongjae and Ohjin were powerful _chaebol_ companies, though not the largest.

“And the judges, Prosecutor-General?” Asked another reporter. “Who are the judges who took bribes, and will they be charged?”

“The five judges named as suspects are Bae Honggi, Won Joonbum, Choi Soohee, Kim Taeseob, and Roh Chanmi,” said the Prosecutor-General. “All are currently subject to a grand jury investigation, but we will proceed only if the grand jury indicts them.

“What do you say to claims that this arrest of opposition politicians is politically motivated and a return to dictatorship?” Said a third reporter.

The Prosecutor-General gave a benevolent smile. “That is flatly untrue.” She gathered up her papers. “That will be all for now. Please expect more indictments.” And then she left.

It was left to Woohyun to process what was going on. Prosecutors were saying that Sunggyu, his co-worker and friend and ex-boyfriend and whatever the man was currently, had taken part in bribing judges on behalf of politicians.

It didn’t make sense, Woohyun thought to himself. He knew Sunggyu. His relationship with Sunggyu have once descended into dysfunctional territory, but the man couldn’t be a criminal. Bribery? Corruption? This was far from Sunggyu’s past infidelity. This was even beyond Sungyeol’s betrayal.

And Woohyun was a realist. He was a defense attorney. He knew what an indictment meant. The percentage of truly innocent defendants was in the single digits, approaching zero. If it had been anybody else arrested, he could have assumed that the person was guilty.

But this was Sunggyu. Kim Sunggyu, the man who had been so tender to him. Kim Sunggyu, who knew him in some ways that even Sungyeol didn’t. Kim Sunggyu, his last friend.

 _How could the other men he called his closest friends do this to him?_ Woohyun wanted to be angry right now, but he was still too tired for that. Sungyeol, Myungsoo, and Howon had all been in on this. _Sungyeol fucked Myungsoo. Sungyeol, that bastard, had lied to my face, and Myungsoo, that two-faced liar, acted as if nothing had ever happened._

Woohyun could have called Sungyeol, and screamed at his husband, and told the man that their marriage was over forever. He could have called Myungsoo, asking the man how he could have knowingly slept with Sungyeol. He could even have reached Howon, and asked how much the man knew and why he wasn’t informed. He could have done any of those things.

But Sunggyu needed his help.

It wouldbe so much easier, after all. To go from saving Sungyeol to now saving Sunggyu, and to throw himself into his work so deeply that he would forget that he was ever married.

There was only one thing he could do right now.

He picked up his cellphone, reaching a familiar number in the contacts and dialing it. After a woman’s voice answered, Woohyun began speaking.

“Mother, Father, I need some help. A friend of mine is in trouble.”

 

 

 

**\----**

 

He didn’t need to be here.

The atmosphere inside Department 2 was a media circus. The judge on duty handling arraignments was Cha Jaeho, the first judge whom Woohyun had ever practiced before. And he was looking displeased.

“Eighteen defendants, Prosecutor Yang,” said the man, pointing at the defendant’s table. “This is ridiculous.”

Woohyun admitted the scene was a mess. The defendant’s table was meant to have no more than four people. Representatives Kim, Kwon, and Han and their three lawyers already took up the entire table. That meant the other fifteen defendants and _their_ lawyers were forced to crowd around them, with some defendants even sitting in the jury box for lack of space.

“Consolidating the case will lead to more efficiency, not less. This entire racket involves a series of tightly-linked events. It is more akin to one transaction with many parts, as opposed to many transactions,” protested Prosecutor Yang, a slender and white-haired man.

“Almost twenty defendants are present, and the prosecution has stated that each defendant is either a leader or a member of a different political faction,” protested Representative Kim’s attorney, turning to her prosecution counterpart. “It’ll be a confusing trial, on top of possibly prejudicial media coverage. Your Honor, I still hear flashbulbs behind me, despite your order.”

Judge Cha gave a frown and waved at the throng of reporters in the back. “Bailiffs, get these cameras out of here,” he said. And even as the court’s security staff tussled with reporters, he continued the arraignment.

“I agree with the defense. Prosecutor Yang, we’re splitting the cases up. I hereby order that Representatives Han and Kwon will be arraigned in Department 4 with Judge Byeon Jiwon. All suspects in the Kwon faction be sent to Department 8 for Judge Yoon Sangjeong to hear. All suspects associated with Representative Han will be sent to Department 12 for Judge Park Je-in. The rest will remain here. I will not hear any disagreements. Is that understood?” The judge said, rubbing his temples in annoyance.

And then after more commotion and more camera flashes, the crowd of defendants thinned out considerably. Woohyun could see Sunggyu present. The man continued to stare at his hands, which were now clasped together as in prayer. Woohyun knew Sunggyu was a Christian, but he didn’t know if Sunggyu was praying now. If Sunggyu was to prevail, he would need faith in the justice system.

“Alright then,” continued the judge, now looking at the defendants before him, “my docket has now been reduced to the following six people.” He listed a list of names, the last of which was Sunggyu’s.

Kim Hyemin and her attorney remained at the defendant’s table, but nobody made any moves to join him. Sunggyu was standing, leaning against the jury box.

“We can now proceed with the arraignment,” said the judge, being concise and brusque. “This is case number JL-1115-09, Prosecutor-General versus Kim Hyemin, et al. Attorney Moon Hyunsook is on record as counsel for Representative Kim. I see the rest of the defendants also have lawyers. This is good. We’ll start with the defendant with the most charges. Defendant Kim Sunggyu, that means we begin with you.”

Woohyun could see Sunggyu’s lawyer present, whispering in his client’s ear. The man was Bang Yeojoon, an extremely high-powered and renowned defense attorney. Woohyun’s parents had enlisted Attorney Bang to represent Sunggyu at least in the preliminary stages, with Woohyun paying the man’s fees for now. But he would need to discuss future representation with Sunggyu, and Woohyun wasn’t sure how his friend would be able to pay the legal costs.

“Good afternoon, Your Honor,” said Attorney Bang in a surprisingly high-pitched voice. “Bang Yeojoon representing Kim Sunggyu, who is present and in custody.”

“And Yang Sangdo for the Prosecutor-General,” said the prosecutor, in a deeper voice.

“Excellent,” said Judge Cha, “Prosecutor Yang, does the Prosecutor-General now wish to charge Kim Sunggyu?”

“Yes,” said the prosecutor, handing a piece of paper to a bailiff who handed it to the judge. “The Prosecutor-General charges Kim Sunggyu with the following counts as returned by the grand jury indictment.”

“I see,” said the judge, looking at the indictment before him. “Does the defendant wish to hear the charges against him?”

“We’d like each count to be read, yes,” said Attorney Bang. “But we don’t need the rest of the indictment.”

Judge Cha nodded, and proceeded to list the massive list of criminal allegations. “Defendant Kim Sunggyu, the grand jury has charged you with the following thirty felony criminal counts: four counts of money laundering, four counts of conspiracy to commit money laundering, nine counts of bribery, two counts of soliciting bribery, two counts of conspiracy to commit bribery, one count of false statements to banks, two counts of mail fraud, one count of conspiracy to commit mail fraud, one count of wire fraud, one count of conspiracy to commit wire fraud, one count of aiding and abetting, one count of racketeering, and one count of obstruction of justice. Did I miss anything?”

“No, Your Honor,” said Prosecutor Yang, “I believe you’ve stated everything that the defendant has been charged with.”

“And does he wish to enter a plea at this time?”

“Yes, Your Honor. Kim Sunggyu pleads ‘Not Guilty’ to each of the thirty counts against him,” said Attorney Bang, still standing up.

“In that case, I will enter the pleas of ‘Not Guilty.’ Have the attorneys exchanged discovery?” The judge asked.

“We’ve gotten started on that,” said Prosecutor Yang, “and we expect we’ll be done shortly after the arraignment.”

“Good,” said the judge. “Do counsel wish to set a time for trial now? Or will both sides begin entering into plea negotiations?”

“The prosecutor’s office has not yet sought out a plea. My client is willing to begin negotiations, but otherwise we are ready to set a trial date for next year. The preliminary discovery in this case has been enormous,” said Attorney Bang. “The Prosecutor-General has been burying us in paperwork.”

“The paperwork is voluminous because the crimes are voluminous,” said Prosecutor Yang, speaking up.

“Alleged crimes,” interjected Attorney Bang.

“No, no, no. Attorney Bang. Prosecutor Yang. The two of you will not be sniping at each other in my courtroom,” frowned the judge. “I want the two of you to sit down with each other and start talking. Whether you two actually reach a deal is another matter. For that reason, I’m scheduling the trial nine months in advance, in August. Does the government seek detention?”

“No, Your Honor,” said Prosecutor Yang, somewhat chastised. “We’ll ask that the defendant hand over his passport and stay within the country though.”

“This all sounds good. Defendant will hand over his passport. Trial is set in August. We’re done with the first defendant. Next one, please,” the judge said.

Sunggyu then left the courtroom silently, even as his attorney took a few brief seconds to talk with the prosecutor in the case. But as he did so, his eyes locked onto Woohyun’s for just a second. And then Sunggyu was gone, without giving Woohyun any explanation.

 

 

 

**\----**

 

When Woohyun returned to SLG on Monday, he could tell that the entire office was in a panic.

Attorney Gil Seonhee, usually gentle and friendly, was looking too distraught to speak at the office meeting. As such, it was Lim Jinsol who explained the situation

“Ladies, gentlemen, there is no other way to describe this,” said Attorney Lim, in her usual straightforward and direct manner. “Last week, prosecutors arrested three of our attorneys for criminal conduct. Lawyers Kim Sunggyu, Chae Nohyun, and Park Youngjoon have accordingly been placed on leave.”

“We have been told by prosecutors that no additional attorneys at our office are under investigation. But SLG needs to be absolutely clear on the following issue: we have absolutely no tolerance for this sort of criminal conduct,” said Shin Moonjoo, the other partner, whose face remained blank despite the disappointment in her voice.

“We also believe that our firm will continue to survive,” said Attorney Lim, looking each attorney in the eye, including Woohyun. “We do not intend to fire attorneys Kim, Chae, and Park at this time. But they will not be working here. Accordingly, all of you here will need to take on additional work until we decide what to do. That may include taking on their cases. And when you do, you must tell us about any criminal activity you uncover.”

Woohyun nodded, as each of the partners began speaking with the attorneys in their firm. To his surprise, it was Lim Jinsol who spoke to him.

 _She was Sunggyu’s mentor, even as Attorney Gil was mine_ , Woohyun thought, as the older woman sat down next to him. He thought she would be sad or disappointed, but instead, her face had a hard, cruel expression.

“What was Sunggyu to you?” Attorney Lim asked. It was not how Woohyun expected her to open the conversation.

 _He was the man I fucked when I was broken and desperate_ was what Woohyun thought but did not say.

“I knew him in law school. He’s been good to me these past few months,” said Woohyun instead, staring at his hands.

Lim Jinsol’s expression suddenly softened and she gave a sigh.

“I still remember when he was my trainee at the Handeok Law Firm. The first time I ever talked to him, I told him to write a motion for summary judgment. What he returned to me was adequate. I told him as much, and then he returned a revised motion that was spectacular,” Attorney Lim said, shaking her head. “He could be so dedicated. I don’t know where he crossed the line.”

Woohyun spoke softly. “He was an intense man. I don’t know what went wrong.”

Attorney Lim pursed her lips in deep thought, as some sort of realization developed. “I wonder if I’m the cause.”

Woohyun jerked forward, looking at her with confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Attorney Nam, I am a Christian and so is Sunggyu. I introduced him to a church,” said Attorney Lim, slightly lost in thought. “It was during an intense two weeks of litigation, when Sunggyu and I were both up all Saturday night, that I suggested he attend my old church the next day.”

“And what happened?” Woohyun said, not knowing where the conversation was going.

“He went, of course,” said Lim Jinsol with a shrug, “and now I realize something else.”

It wasn’t curiosity that was driving Woohyun now. It was a desperate need to know. “Realize what?”

“Kim Hyemin, Han Jaesong, and lawyers Chae and Park all attend that church,” said Attorney Lim, deeper in thought. “I don’t know any other way that Sunggyu could have gotten caught up in that circle. We’ve never done any business for Representatives Kim, Kwon, or Han. We’ve talked with Ryeongjae or Ohjin, the companies paying bribes, but they never selected us for legal work. I can’t think of any nexus between SLG and the bribery ring except through Heemang Presbyterian Church.”

Woohyun wanted to continue probing. “Are you a member?”

“No,” said Attorney Lim, “After I married, I started going to Shinseong Temple of God. But Sunggyu kept going.”

 _Could the bribery ring’s center be at Heemang?_ Woohyun said, and began to think whether any of his family’s friends were also members. As far as he was concerned, they weren’t. He had only heard of this megachurch before, in passing.

The two attorneys were silent for another minute, before Attorney Lim spoke up. “You’ll need to pick up as much of Sunggyu’s work as you can.”

Woohyun gave a tight smile. “I plan to do a lot of work,” he said. _And hopefully I can think of a way to deal with my problems while I run away from them._

“Good, good,” said Attorney Lim, now getting up. “But we’re not giving you that much work, are we?”

Woohyun gave a slight shake of his head. “I’m taking on additional work. I’m joining the conflict panel so I can be a court-appointed defense attorney too.”

Attorney Lim gave a thoughtful look. “Good. Just clear it with Attorney Gil first.”

 

 

 

**\----**

 

“You know, I really have to thank you,” the public defender said, giving Woohyun a smile. “I was just as surprised as anybody in the office when you called. You’re a high-powered corporate attorney at SLG, the son of a President, yet you said you wanted to represent indigent clients pro bono. It’s a lot of work.”

Woohyun gave a slight smile. If it looked pained, that was all the better. He _was_ hurting inside. He could have drowned his sorrows in alcohol. But he chose to throw himself into his work instead. As long as he could work, by reading documents or filing motions or researching precedent, he could make himself briefly forget about Sungyeol, and Myungsoo, and all those lies, and all that pain.

“I want to give back to the community,” he answered with a smile, however false. “So I joined the conflict panel, to take the hardest cases that the public defender can give me.”

“Well, the subpanel you joined isn’t exactly a popular one,” said the public defender. “I think you might be mistaken, though. Subpanel Eight is the most difficult subpanel to work on, and our cases are usually the hardest cases, but not always. You’ve told me that you’ve only been working for a few months, so there are only a few cases I’m willing to assign to you.”

She rifled through a stack of papers, before pulling a bundle of manila folders out. “The Ahn case is going to be too hard. The Kim case is too easy. Jin, also too hard. Kong might work. Choi is way too difficult. Maybe Seo, but maybe not … Aha! This case should be good,” she handed him one of her folders. “The public defender’s office conflicted out of this one because the witness against him is one of our former clients. This is the Uhm Changshik case. He’s a young man accused of date-rape.”

Woohyun hesitated. A rape case would be interesting, surely, but he did not know if he would be comfortable taking on such a case. He said as much.

“Public Defender Wang, I don’t know if I want to take this kind of rape case,” he answered, being honest.

The younger attorney looked at him with a puzzled expression. “I do have other type of rape cases,” she said before peering at her stack again. “There’s an elder abuse case here, two statutory rape cases there, a serial rape in that pile in the back, some molestation charges, and—”

Woohyun cut her off. “What?”

“You didn’t know?” She answered. “Subpanel Eight deals with sex crimes.”

The resulting look of disappointment on Woohyun’s face told her more than she needed to hear.

“I can take you down to the public defender handling Subpanel One, if you like. Our office is constantly swarmed with petty theft and assault cases,” she said, hastily, trying to give Woohyun some cover.

To his own surprise, Woohyun shook his head. “I said I wanted to take the hardest cases I can. If this case is it, then I need to take it.”

The public defender nodded her head. “Well, good! This isn’t the most serious case, but it’ll be a difficult case to defend.”

“Why’s that?” Woohyun said, with a tilt of his head.

“Because your client already confessed to the crime,” said Public Defender Wang with a nonchalant shrug. “You’ll need to get the confession suppressed if you want any chance of winning.”

“He said he’s already done the crime?” Woohyun said, feeling uneasy. Lawyers represented clients who had committed a crime all the time. It should have been no surprise to him. But it was less frequent for clients to confess.

“But he recanted, immediately, saying the confession was coerced. He’s said he’s never raped anybody,” said the lawyer. “Go, talk to him. All of the information is in the file. You’ll be formally appointed to represent him at a hearing this afternoon. Good luck!”

Woohyun took the file from Public Defender Wang and he left. _A lawyer defends the guilty as well as the innocent_ , Woohyun thought to himself with grit. And now he had a job to do.

Woohyun returned to his office, where he began reading the police reports.

Uhm Changshik, according to the police, was a 20-year old man attending a college in Changdong on a music scholarship. On October 14, he attended a party held at a classmate’s house which had started at around 10 PM in the evening. Alcohol was served copiously, probably along with harder drugs. He went to the second-floor accompanied by the alleged victim, Miss Kang Hyunseo, at 11:19 PM. At 11:48 PM, Miss Kang returned to the first-floor living room severely intoxicated. At 11:54 PM, she left the house with her friend, Mr. Heo Taeshik. She returned to the house the next day, on October 15. On October 18, she went to the police and alleged that on the evening of October 14, Uhm Changshik had raped her.

On October 18 and 19, the victim submitted to a medical exam. A medical examiner determined there was bruising consistent with recent penetrative intercourse. A vaginal and anal swab found four different semen samples, two in each orifice. DNA testing determined that there were two distinct DNA profiles, indicating two men, a few weeks later.

On October 23, the police interviewed Miss Kang and Mister Heo again. On October 25, the police interviewed Mister Uhm. In a non-custodial interview, he admitted to having sex with Miss Kang. The interrogation proceeded for almost eighteen hours. In the early morning of October 26, Mister Uhm said that he in fact had raped Miss Kang during the evening. At that point, the police put him under arrest and asked him to write and sign a confession. Mister Uhm then wrote and signed the confession.”

At his initial appearance the next day, he was assigned Public Defender Wang. However, the public defender realized there was a problem. There was a conflict of interest because she had previously represented Miss Kang on a shoplifting charge last year. Now Woohyun was substituted to represent Mister Uhm. The client was currently being held in the Changdong county jail.

Woohyun closed the files before him with a sigh. It was time to get to work.

As long as he was working, thinking about something else, he didn’t need to return to the home that he and Sungyeol shared.

 

 

 

**\----**

 

“I swear, I didn’t do it,” were the first words that the client said, as he sat across from Woohyun. The Changdong county jail was remarkably comfortable: the meeting room was clean, the walls were freshly painted, and there were no physical barriers between the client and the attorney.

“Then what happened?” Woohyun asked. His first impulse was to be skeptical: almost all of the accused were responsible for the crimes alleged, but many defendants claimed innocence.

“It was completely consensual,” said the client, shaking his head. He was a young, attractive man with dyed-red hair and a slender physique. “Hyunseo and I are in the same chemistry. We hit it off from the beginning of the party, and she made it clear that she liked me. Not in a serious way, but in a hookup type of way. So we began making out, by the stairs.”

“Were the two of you drinking?” Woohyun said, writing down notes as the client spoke.

“A bit. I had three or four shots of vodka, but I have a great tolerance for alcohol. I was barely drunk, if at all,” said the younger man. “Hyunseo probably had less than I did. She spent half the party with a bottle of beer in her hand, but I don’t think she finished it. She couldn’t have had more than two drinks, total. She could barely have been drunk.”

“What happened next?” Woohyun continued.

“She whispered in my ear and suggested we find ourselves some place with more privacy, where there weren’t more people around,” said Uhm, with a shrug. “I can read between the lines. I know what that meant. So we went upstairs, and we found an empty bedroom. We started kissing on the bed, with no problems. And then she undid my belt and I knew where it was going from there.”

Woohyun gave a small nod, and the client recognized the sign.

“So I fucked her. And I’ll tell you: she was a freak in bed. Said she was on the pill, and that I could do it without a condom. Looking back, that was a stupid decision, because there could be a little Uhm Changshik out there in eight months, but I was drunk, alright? So she blew me first, and then I fucked her,” the client said, with a smile on his face that made Woohyun uneasy. But the lawyer kept his feelings and opinions to himself, retaining his blank expression.

“What time was this?” He said, even as he felt his pulse quicken. There was something about this client that made him uncomfortable. Perhaps it was the young man’s arrogance.

“Around eleven. So I fucked her, and she wanted it in the front and the back, if you know what I mean,” said the younger man, brushing hair out of his eyes. “So I obliged her. I came, but she didn’t. I left to take a shower, and when I came back, she said she still wasn’t satisfied. She said she had fucked somebody else earlier that day, and he couldn’t make her come either. So she told me to go down and get her fuckbuddy Taeshik to go up and finish the job I couldn’t.”

“And that didn’t make you angry or anything?” Woohyun said, raising an eyebrow.

“No!” Said the man with a laugh. “It doesn’t matter. I already had sex. So I went down and got Taeshik, Heo Taeshik if you want to know, and he went up, and I guessed he fucked her. I saw them come down from the second floor together, and then they left for somewhere else. And then I don’t hear anything until the police arrive, saying I raped Hyunseo. That bitch! I didn’t rape her. I don’t know why she’s saying that now, when she was screaming ‘Yes!’ for ten minutes.”

“Then let’s talk about the confession you made,” Woohyun said coolly.

“It’s bullshit, and I know why you might think I made it,” said Uhm Changshik. “The police questioned me from two in the afternoon till seven in the morning. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t eat. They gave me a bottle of water and let me use the bathroom once. I couldn’t leave, and they just kept asking me questions, one after another, and I couldn’t make them go away, so I told them what they wanted to hear, honest. All I wanted was to eat and sleep, and once I signed that paper, they gave me what I wanted. But in jail.”

Woohyun paused, to think about what the client had said. Changdong was not Ingsan or some other city where the police were renowned for brutality. But cops everywhere could use coercive tactics. Woohyun knew cases where a person confessed, recanted, was imprisoned, and then was exonerated by DNA evidence. Uhm Changshik would not be the first innocent man to crack under the pressure of interrogation.

“Did they ever say you were under arrest?” Woohyun said, starting slowly.

“Not in the beginning, but when I tried to get up, the older cop pounded on the table and said I couldn’t leave,” said the client.

“When _did_ they tell you you were under arrest?”

“After I confessed. I said what they wanted to hear, then they read that long bullshit about a lawyer, and then they handed me a piece of paper and told me to write down everything I had just said. I did, and I signed it, and then they let me sleep.”

Woohyun paused again. He suspected there was going to be a legal issue here.

“What about the contents of your confession? You said that you had been severely intoxicated, but you remembered enough details. You and some other man lured Kang Hyunseo up to the room, and then you and him took turns raping her anally and vaginally, and then you left.”

“Does it sound plausible to you? Read it. I say I don’t even remember the other guy’s name. But if she fucked another man, it was Heo Taeshik. I don’t know the guy personally, but I saw the looks he was giving Hyunseo. If anybody raped her, it must have been him.”

“Was the confession video-taped?”

“They had a camera on. It should have been.”

Woohyun finished scribbling in his legal notepad. “I think I’ve gotten enough for this visit,” he said, before packing up to leave. “I’m going to submit a motion to suppress the pre-arrest and post-arrest confessions. In the meantime, you need to behave yourself here. There’s always the chance you can get out.”

 

 

 

\----

 

“Alright, we’re now ready to begin motions in limine for case UY-0034-02, Prosecutor-General v. Uhm Changshik. The case comes before the court on a motion to suppress two statements, one made before the defendant was read his rights, and the second made afterwards,” said the judge. The judge, Park Je-in, had been a long-time defense attorney, but had a reputation for being a moderate. Woohyun did not know if the judge would be sympathetic.

“Yes, Your Honor, Nam Woohyun representing Defendant Uhm, who is not present today,” began Woohyun. “Today, the court must grant the motion to suppress pursuant to Supreme Court precedent. Both statements violated the defendant’s right to silence. The first statement must be suppressed pursuant to the seminal case _In re Kong_ , holding that the police must inform a suspect who has been arrested that he or she has a right to remain silent. Statements made in custody without an admonition are presumed to be compelled and must be excluded as fruit of the poisonous tree. Anything else would be a violation of the defendant’s right against self-incrimination.”

“And we agree in that aspect,” interjected the prosecutor, Cho Sungjin. She was young, perhaps just out of law school, and still eager. “We looked at the videotape of the interrogation, and we now realize that Defendant Uhm was in custody even though the police did not say he was under arrest. At this point, the prosecution will concede that Defendant Uhm’s statements before the admonition violated _In re Kong_ and we will not seek to introduce them at trial.”

“That is good,” said Woohyun, continuing, “but the defendant’s post-admonition confession must also be suppressed. If you look at the totality of the circumstances, including the duration of interrogation, you would see that the defendant’s waiver of his right to silence was not given knowingly, intelligently, and voluntarily. The defendant had already been questioned for close to eighteen hours, without food or sleep, before he made his statements. Afterwards, there was no temporal break between when he made his statements and when he wrote the confession. As soon as he confessed, the detectives presented him with a pen and paper to write and sign his confession.”

“The detectives gave him the full admonition,” said Prosecutor Cho, “and the defendant was fully informed that he would not need to say or do anything. He nonetheless chose to write out his entire confession and sign it. The warning removed any taint from the previous confession and made the new confession voluntary. This is not fruit of the poisonous tree. For support, we cite the case _Prosecutor v. Hahn_ , where the Supreme Court ruled that a second statement given after the admonition is not necessarily inadmissible.”

“Even _Prosecutor v. Hahn_ said in dicta that it was not meant to be an end-run around _In re Kong_ ,” said Woohyun. “ _In re Kong_ was fully aware, and subsequent litigation has confirmed, that even a signed waiver can be overcome by a sufficiently strong showing of involuntariness. Here, the facts of the eighteen-hour interrogation followed by _this_ deliberate two-step interrogation show that the statement cannot stand. _Prosecutor v. Hahn_ involved one statement given two minutes between the arrest and five minutes before the admonition. There was no causal or direct connection between the two statements in _Hahn_ and here. But the written confession is a direct product of the inadmissible confession. It’s tainted.”

“And Prosecutor Cho?” The judge said, pushing his spectacles up. “Was the interrogation designed to undermine _Kong_?”

“Absolutely not, Your Honor. The police are allowed to go right up to the line to get confessions. In this case, the police were tough, but ultimately followed all procedures required by _Kong_ ,” came the response.

“But the police have done this before?” The judge said, battering on the prosecutor.

“It’s not a policy, no, and hardly even a customary practice, but this type of interrogation has happened before,” conceded the prosecutor.

“Is that so?” The judge seemed skeptical.

“We just want to say that by litigating the voluntariness of the confession, the court would be blowing a hole through the general presumption that a written, signed waiver is valid,” said Prosecutor Cho, hastily in a last remark.

The judge turned to Woohyun, who added a last statement.

“The second statement must be thrown out. The totality of the circumstances show that the waiver preceding the confession was not given voluntarily, intelligently, and knowingly,” said Woohyun.

The judge looked at the two lawyers, frowned, and steepled his fingers. “Well, if the court needs to decide between following the constitution and following police practice, the court will choose the former every time. The police should have informed the defendant of his right to silence at the moment of his arrest. Interrogating him in absence of _Kong_ was a violation of the Constitution likely to produce an inadmissible statement. The confession and the waiver were not produced voluntarily, knowingly, and intelligently. The motion to suppress is granted in its entirety.”

Woohyun nodded as he prepared to leave, going over to Prosecutor Cho as the two of them left the courtroom.

“We still need to exchange discovery, but without a confession I’m guessing you don’t have too much to go on,” said Woohyun, with a smile that could not be confused as friendly. “I’m always open to plea discussions.”

The prosecutor’s saccharine smile told him everything he suspected. “Oh, no, Attorney Nam. There won’t be any plea deals here. We’re taking this case straight to trial.”

Woohyun wanted to smirk. _A true challenge, taking a case from beginning until completion. _And then he left for home, a smile on his face.__

 __There were more motions to write and more research to be done, but he could win this case. _Unless I shouldn’t,___ Woohyun thought briefly, remembering the client’s smile, but then he shook the thought from his head.

But when Woohyun went home, finally, for the first time in days, his determination turned to sadness once again. There were half a dozen messages in the phone’s voicemail. And a quick look showed that all of them came from Sungyeol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/west_of_autumn). I welcome your thoughts, suggestions, and comments!


	13. Irreconcilable differences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was slightly difficult to write, but I think I made it work. I hope you enjoy!

There were six voicemails, Woohyun saw, and it took only a few swipes at the phone’s screen to see that they were all from Sungyeol.

He could have deleted them, right there. He didn’t want to hear Sungyeol’s voice right now. Maybe not ever. Even thinking about Sungyeol made that man’s voice ring in his ears.

_“Have you had sex with anybody that I am friends with? Or even if you think I know him or her?”_

_“No, Woohyun. They were the four prostitutes you heard about, and two one-night stands. Even I don’t remember all of their names.”_

Sungyeol had brazenly lied to Woohyun, to his husband’s face.

Myungsoo. Myungsoo! Woohyun’s friend, and one of the men he trusted. He had known Myungsoo literally as long as he had known Sungyeol. Myungsoo had broken up with Sungyeol the day before he met the two of them. If there was one other person who should have been honest with him, it should have been Myungsoo.

And Sungyeol. How could Sungyeol have lied to him? His dear, sweet husband, the man who didn’t blink the in the face of the lights and the cameras. The man who could spend hours walking with him through the city’s parks and streets. The man who kissed him at their graduation ceremony, in full view of the entire crowd. The man who married him despite all the hate that was thrown their way. The man who cheated on him by having orgies with prostitutes.

Woohyun closed his eyes, and pressed play.

“Woohyun, dear, are you there? I haven’t talked to you since the day of the trial. I wanted to thank you again for standing by me despite all the crowds and the cameras and the reporters. You’ll never know how grateful and thankful I am that you were by my side. I was thinking we could have dinner this weekend. I knew I did you so much wrong, and I’m sorry for that. I’ll apologize a million times if that brings you back. I want to start anew, and make it up to you. Let’s have dinner this weekend, just the two of us. Does that sound good? Give me a call back when you get this message.”

Woohyun deleted the message.

“Woohyun, wow! Did you hear the news? Kim Hyemin _finally_ got arrested. Do you remember her? Do you remember when she ran against your mother for the Presidency and attacked your relationships as a political point? It must be karma that caught up to her. And her flunkies? Kwon, the man who said our marriage was an abomination and an affront to God? And Han, a living fossil? This is just bizarre. I want to talk to you about it. Did you get my message? Did you want dinner tomorrow? Call me back if you get this.”  
He deleted the message.

“Woohyun, are you there? I guess we’re not meeting this weekend. I heard Sunggyu got arrested. That’s insane. I don’t think there’s anything I can do for him, but if you want, I’ll do anything I can. I used to work under the prosecutor in this case, and I still have his number, but I don’t know if it’ll do anything good. I haven’t been able to reach you at this number, and I’m getting worried about you. I’ll try to reach you at work. Tell me if there’s anything you need.”

He deleted the message.

“What’s going on, Woohyun? I’ve tried to reach your cell and I called your work, but they said you were only taking work-related calls and I demanded to speak to you, but they refused to connect, saying you were explicit that you didn’t want any personal calls. I don’t understand. What’s wrong? If there’s something I’ve done, just tell me and I’ll correct it. I want to speak to you, Woohyun-ah, and I just want to hear your voice. Please, if you love me at all, call back when you get this message. I’ve missed you so much, and I’m on the brink of just coming back to our house.”

He deleted the message.

“Please, Woohyun-ah, I’m not getting this at all. You’re at work but I can’t reach you, you’re not at home at night, and I don’t understand what’s going on. You’re not permanently leaving me, are you? Please, please, please don’t leave me. You’ve never done this to me, even during the trial. For the first time, for the first time, I’m really thinking about what would happen if you left me for the rest of our lives, and I really don’t want that. If you want me to apologize, I’ll apologize. If you want me to get on my knees and beg in front of the entire world I’ll do it. Just talk to me, and let me know what’s going on, please.”

He deleted the message.

The last message consisted of thirty seconds of Sungyeol sniffling, followed by his husband saying “Woohyun-ah, please.” And that was it.

He deleted the message.

Sungyeol seemed to say everything, except the word _Myungsoo._

Woohyun felt angry tears rolling down his cheek as he picked up his cellphone. It was still early, barely past noon. There was still time. He called a number, knowing he might break down. But when the woman picked up, he managed to keep his voice steady.

“Attorney Gil, is it? Could I bother you with personal favor? I’m asking you to keep quiet about it, because it’s really important. You’ll be discreet? You swear? Thank you so much. Yes, I wanted to ask if you know any divorce lawyers.”

**\---**

The lawyer before him today was a woman, middle-aged and fairly short. She was barely up to his chin, and Woohyun was not a tall man either. Fortunately, the two of them were seated at a conference table, allowing the two of them so sit at relative parity.

“Wow,” she had said, when she first saw Woohyun. “Attorney Gil was right, this is something I would need to keep secret.”

“You _can_ keep this a secret, Attorney Baek?” Woohyun said in a cautious voice. There was nobody else in the room, and the woman’s law firm had taken a set of precautions when dealing with high-value clients. Woohyun had to pass through two service corridors and one secret elevator just to get into this room. Nonetheless, it was a worthwhile precaution to use the utmost care.

“Of course,” said the divorce lawyer, shifting in her seat. “You’re not even the highest-profile client I’ve ever represented. I’ve represented celebrities, singers, _chaebol_ businessmen, and politicians before. I’m almost famous in my own right, for my discretion. Now how can I help you, Attorney Nam Woohyun?”

Woohyun hesitated, for a second. If he said it, it became real. He had thought, for so long, that he would never need to say these words. That his marriage was different. That his love would last. That everything would be okay and permanent, and all would be right with the world.

“I’m considering a divorce.”

Even then, he wasn’t sure about how honest his words were. He could have said _I want a divorce_ or something like _I am certain that I want a divorce._ But he didn’t say that.

“I can’t counsel you to get a divorce just right now,” the woman said, setting aside her notepad and pen. “I have clients who come in, and they say they want a divorce, and they’ve tried nothing. I tell them to consider couples counselling, or going to a therapist, or even just talking to their spouse. Divorce should be the last step, not the first. Have you tried anything?”

“No, because I discovered he was cheating on me.”

The woman gave a puzzled look. “Attorney Nam,” she said with a heavy pause. “Everybody knows about Lee Sungyeol’s scandal.”

“With his best friend.” Woohyun replied flatly.

The woman gave a slight look of shock. “I’m guessing his best friend was not a prostitute.”

“Not in the slightest.”

Attorney Baek nodded her head. “I see. Is there anything else that I didn’t hear about in the papers? Did he wildly spend your money? Steal your money? Did he use drugs? Alcohol? Is he addicted to sex?”

“No,” Woohyun shook his head. “All he did was cheat on me. He’s usually in control of his finances and I’ve never seen him do drugs.”

“Does he beat you? Is he verbally abusive? Impotent? Mentally ill?”

“None of the above,” Woohyun answered. “I would have left him long ago if that was the case.”

“So he’s a serial cheater,” said the lawyer. “But divorce is an extremely drastic step, no matter what he did to you.”

Woohyun nodded. “I know Sungyeol isn’t a monster. He’s not the worse spouse ever. But I don’t know if I want him to be _my_ spouse. That’s why I said I was considering divorce. I want to know all of my options, just in case I wanted to go through with it.”

The attorney looked slightly relieved. “Oh, that is good. Don’t let my law specialty fool you. I dislike divorce just as much as anybody else. I do not like separating couples. Knowing that, what are your concerns? I know Sungyeol has no children with you, which makes the divorce process much more easier.”

Woohyun frowned. “Property division and alimony. The usual. We’ve already separated, and we’re living in two separate places.”

The attorney nodded. “That’s generally a factor that a court will look at. Did you have any sort of premarital agreement?”

Woohyun pulled the premarital agreement from a stack of papers that he brought. “We signed this two days before we married. Sungyeol was represented by an attorney, and I was represented by another attorney. Sungyeol and I are also both lawyers. The four of us contributed to writing the agreement, at various points. We believed the agreement to be airtight.”

The divorce lawyer skimmed through the agreement. “General conformity with contract law, I see. Lots of disclosure elements. The waiver to the property of the other party looks strong. The waiver of alimony is also strong, but hopefully not too strong.” She took a few minutes before she continued commenting. “It looks well-drafted. Based on the quality of the contract, I suspect it would hold up in court. Of course, I’ve also taken apart some very well-drafted contracts in court. That’s why it’s important for both sides to hire lawyers. Do you think your husband Sungyeol will contest a divorce? It would make things easier if he doesn’t.”

Woohyun shook his head. “I have no idea. I think he still loves me.”

“Well,” said the attorney with a shrug of her shoulders. “There are only so many ways to get divorce. You can go the no-fault way, where the two of you cite irreconcilable differences to end your marriage, or you can try to prove something by going the at-fault route. Irreconcilable differences would just mean the two of you have a fundamental breakdown in your marriage. Nobody would blame the other. You’d file for divorce but you wouldn’t blame Sungyeol.”

“And the other option?”

“You could have an at-fault divorce, where you blame your partner. Adultery, for example, is one of the grounds for divorce. But I always tell clients that it’s easier to go through the no-fault process. Proving anything is always hard.”

“My husband admitted in open court to using the services of prostitutes,” said Woohyun.

“Sungyeol can fight back. He can allege, rightly or wrongly, that _you_ also cheated on him, and that adultery was mutual,” said the lawyer.

The reflexive jerk that Woohyun gave betrayed him, and Attorney Baek understood the meaning. She gave a sigh, and shook her head.

“Proving adultery just leads to mudslinging, and it would cost you extra money. If the two of you divorce, and I have no hopes for you to do so, the best route is to cite irreconcilable differences and divorce amicably,” said Attorney Baek.

“That really happens?” Woohyun raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“More than you think, but not nearly enough,” said Attorney Baek. 

And Woohyun was silent again.

 _Amicably._ He thought, even as he wanted to both laugh and cry at that word.

“I’m going to recommend marriage counselling and therapy for you first,” said Attorney Baek. “In fact, I’m not sure that our preliminary discussions today even open up the way for an attorney-client relationship. My greatest hope is that you can walk out of this building, go to your husband, and never see a divorce lawyer again. Divorce is always hard. I’ve had clients, even lawyers, who think that they can bulldoze over their spouse if they pay enough money. That’s never the case.”

Woohyun stood up. “Attorney Baek, I know a bit about the clients you’ve taken on. I’m sure you’ll do a good job. I’m willing to pay you a retainer right now, to make sure I have you by my side as I decide what to do.”

Attorney Baek nodded. “That’s a much less drastic step, and one that works to the benefit of both of us. I look forward to working with you, Nam Woohyun.”

 _And I look forward to telling Sungyeol about you, Attorney Baek,_ Woohyun thought.

**\---**

It didn’t surprise Woohyun one bit that when Sungyeol saw him again, the other man wrapped his arms around him and put a kiss on his cheek. Woohyun didn’t push Sungyeol away, merely reaching one arm over to pat Sungyeol on the back. Woohyun tried to keep himself calm, even as he found his heart beating quickly. Not from hope or happiness, but from anticipation.

“I missed you,” said Sungyeol with a flush, stepping back. He cradled Woohyun’s head in his hands, putting their foreheads together. “I missed you.”

Woohyun forced himself to keep a flat expression. “It’s only been more than a week since we last saw each other.”

But at this close distance, all Woohyun could see was Sungyeol. The line of his nose. The lashes along his eyes. And he remembered, once, that he would have killed to be this close with the other man.

“You didn’t talk to me for a whole week. I didn’t understand what was happening. You’re going to tell me what happened, right?” Sungyeol said, still breathless.

Woohyun looked away. “I had a lot to think about.” It didn’t exactly answer Sungyeol’s question, but it wasn’t a lie either.

“Okay, good,” said Sungyeol with a smile. “I got us reservations at Yamato-uta. It’s still your favorite Japanese restaurant, right?”

Woohyun nodded, and Sungyeol looked happy for just a second. Woohyun would have preferred to not associate a favorite restaurant with what might happen next, but he forced himself to go along.

They left from Sungyeol’s apartment in Sungyeol’s car. Woohyun kept silent for now, eyeing Sungyeol’s driver. Sungyeol was likewise quiet, holding Woohyun’s hand in his. Woohyun was looking away, out the window, even while Sungyeol continued to look wistfully at him.

When they arrived at the restaurant, in downtown Changdong, Sungyeol took the step of leaping out of the car as soon as they stopped, instead of waiting for a valet. He opened the door for Woohyun, and the two of them walked in together. People paid attention to them. The two of them stood out, whether or not they were recognized: they were both dressed to the nines, in well-tailored suits and ties. 

Woohyun took care to appear utterly polite, smiling at the waitstaff who ushered the two of them into a private room. Neither of them bothered to look at a menu. In a restaurant this upscale, the guests would only eat what the chef had deigned to serve. The appetizers came within mere minutes.

And then it was just the two of them.

It was Sungyeol who reacted first, reaching his hands out to hold Woohyun’s.

“Woohyun-ah, what’s wrong? Is it something I did?” He asked first, sounding concerned. The man, perhaps subconsciously, was pressing into Woohyun’s palms with his thumbs.

“You could say that,” answered Woohyun, still quiet.

“I meant everything I said,” Sungyeol said, with the same determination that had first drawn Woohyun. “You were right. Pleading guilty was the right choice. I’m so thankful we’re together, well, somewhat together. I couldn’t have gotten through this if it wasn’t for you.”

“You said you wanted to start anew,” Woohyun said quietly, not looking at Sungyeol.

And then Sungyeol placed his palms against the table, trying to look at Woohyun.

“Absolutely, Woohyun. We’ve been married ten years, and I hope this is the hardest thing we ever go through. There’s been this scandal, and this trial, and this media publicity. I know you haven’t exactly forgiven me, so that’s why I want to start things over. I want to do right, and earn your love, again.”

 _If we start over, you can lie to yourself and forget the time you fucked Myungsoo,_ Woohyun thought to himself for just a second. But just as quickly as that, he followed that up with another thought. _The same way I fucked Sunggyu._

“And what would we do, then?” Woohyun said, almost humoring Sungyeol.

“Anything you want,” said Sungyeol, his eyes glinting. “We can go dating as a couple again. Walks in the park or along the beach. Watching movies together. Getting dinner like we are right now.”

A knock at the door let them know the main courses arrived. The two of them began eating, before Sungyeol continued.

“I know I did you wrong. If you can forgive me, and let me start on a blank state, I won’t disappoint you again,” Sungyeol said. He was eating now, almost nonchalantly.

 _A fucking blank slate, really? So now you’re tossing Myungsoo aside, or you’re hoping I’ll never find out,_ Woohyun thought, keeping his face calm even as he put another piece of sushi in his mouth.

“You’re afraid I’ll leave you,” said Woohyun, still keeping his voice flat. It was not a question.

The look on Sungyeol’s face was dread, and he tried to laugh off Woohyun’s comment. “But Woohyun, why would you do that? The hardest part is already past us. I plead guilty. I told the entire world that I fucked that whore, and I’m on probation because of it. There might be cameras following us, but we’re stale news. Everybody is going to be focused on Kim Hyemin and her group of cronies.”

The politician’s name brought Sunggyu to the front of Woohyun’s mind. Even though Woohyun wanted nothing more than to spring his trap, his memories of Sunggyu forced him to change plans.

“And what could you do about Sunggyu?”

Sungyeol looked momentarily displeased at discussing his husband’s ex-boyfriend, but he nodded to himself. After all, he was the one who brought up Kim Hyemin.

“It’ll be a trial. And it’ll be a real fight, not a judicial farce. I heard the government is throwing the full brunt of the Anti-Corruption division into this trial. Sunggyu is facing the country’s top prosecutors,” said Sungyeol, before eating again. “I know Prosecutor Yang, and he used to be my mentor, but I can’t do anything more than ask for leniency.”

“But do you know what Sunggyu is facing?” And Woohyun now actually did want to hear Sungyeol answer. His husband was returning to the persona of a prosecutor.

“Thirty felony counts is huge, but the way sentencing works means it won’t be as bad as it sounds. He’s a first-time nonviolent offender, which means his prison sentences will almost certainly be served concurrently. The most serious accusation is the racketeering charge, which carries a twenty year sentence. So even if Sunggyu is convicted of all charges, he can only serve twenty years at most. And as a first-time nonviolent offender, he’ll probably get a reduced sentence. The guidelines suggest a sentence between twelve and fifteen years. With good behavior, he might get out in ten. But he won’t practice law again, unless a miracle happens.”

Woohyun shook his head, and what he said next was half to Sungyeol and half to himself. “It’s funny, really. Now that Sunggyu has been arrested, it means 100% of my adult relationships involve some legal trouble.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Sungyeol responded, reaching out for Woohyun’s hand. The man seemed confident for the second, sticking his chin. His eyes were bright, and ambitious. 

_Tall, dark, and handsome._ Woohyun would once have thought that of his husband. 

“Every relationship has its ups and downs, right?” Sungyeol brought Woohyun’s hand up, placing a kiss against Woohyun’s fingers. “Let’s not talk about Sunggyu. He hurt you.”

That reminder forced Woohyun to look away. He had loved Sunggyu once, until Sunggyu hurt him, and now his ex-boyfriend might spend a decade in jail. For a second, Woohyun mentally winced at himself. _I’m not going to get back together with Sunggyu if he’s spending ten years behind bars._ he thought to himself briefly.

Sungyeol realized that Woohyun was thinking about something else, and tried to shift the conversation. “Like I said before: if you want, we can start over again, like we were never married. Let me win your heart again. I’ll be good.”

Normally, Woohyun would have laughed at the line, but he was thinking about something else. _Starting from new, like we’ve never cheated on each other,_ Woohyun thought. He gave a hum, staring at Sungyeol.

“Is that what you want, Woohyun?” Sungyeol asked, still smiling.

 _You forgot to mention Myungsoo,_ Woohyun thought, and he decided to proceed as planned.

“No.”

The word was loud, louder than Woohyun had been throughout their conversation, and its force slammed into Sungyeol. The man reacted in shock, involuntarily pushing his chair back.

“Woohyun, what? I don’t understand. If you want me to do something, I’ll do it. Anything you ask,” Sungyeol said, speaking extremely quickly and trying to assuage his husband.

“Do you think I’m a pushover?” Woohyun said sharply, seizing the momentum in their conversation.

“What? No, I would never think that about you. Woohyun, you’re the strongest man I’ve ever met,” said Sungyeol, and his face was rapidly alternating between confusion and worry and fear.

“Then isn’t there something you should be telling me?” Woohyun was angry now, raising his voice and clenching his fists. _Myungsoo. Just say Myungsoo and maybe I can forgive you, and maybe I won’t just scream, here and now. I’m giving you a chance, Sungyeol. Take it. Take it! Say yes, Sungyeol. Say Myungsoo._

Sungyeol looked away, and there was a look of shame on his face. But Woohyun saw something break inside Sungyeol. Something would be forthcoming. Something.

_Say it._

“Yes,” said Sungyeol, and it was barely a whisper.

Woohyun’s anger had been a beast inside him, once roaring to burst forth, but it was still for just a second. He held his wrath back, as vehement as it was, for just a second.

“What, then?” Woohyun asked coldly. Sungyeol did not seem to realize what Woohyun had done. He didn’t seem to understand the situation at all, grasping blindly for the next step.

“Woohyun,” he said, not making eye contact as his words choked in his mouth. “If I tell you, you’ll leave me.”

“Tell me. I deserve to know,” Woohyun said, as his anger began to creep back.

“I said I had two one-night stands,” Sungyeol said. “I lied. It wasn’t quite that. I twisted the truth. Both times, I slept with somebody once, but it was emotionally deeper than that.”

Woohyun exhaled, loudly, but Sungyeol was too caught up in his shame to notice.

“One was with a journalist, when I was still a prosecutor. You shouldn’t know her,” said Sungyeol hesitantly, looking at Woohyun now. “Her name was Gyeong Mi-yeon. I thought I could do what all of my colleagues were doing, using journalists for leak information or circulate rumors. She was trying to get me to say something incriminating about my colleagues, so we lead each other on for about two weeks. After I slept with her, I told her not to contact me again. It’s no surprise that she works for the newspaper that first revealed information about me.”

Woohyun closed his eyes, clenching his teeth. It was one of the things that he wanted to hear, but it was not _the_ thing he wanted to hear.

“There’s still one more.”

“Please don’t make me say it,” said Sungyeol, rooted to his chair and slightly trembling. “You’ll leave me if I tell you the other name.”

“No, Sungyeol,” warned Woohyun. “I’ll decide that for myself.”

Sungyeol’s lip quivered for just a second.

“Myungsoo. I slept with Myungsoo.” 

Sungyeol looked up at Woohyun, his eyes watering and his face despondent. 

Woohyun narrowed his eyes in nothing less than a cruel stare. 

“I know.” And then he stood up to leave.

Sungyeol recoiled as if he had been shot, a look of utter horror on his face. At first he pushed himself away from the table, eyes wide in shock and his pupils shrinking into dots, but he quickly understood what was happening. He bolted from his chair, throwing himself onto one knee in front of Woohyun, clasping his hands together to plead. But Woohyun only stared at him coldly.

“I made a mistake,” Sungyeol pleaded, looking up at Woohyun. “I made a mistake. It was a mistake. Please, forgive me, Woohyun, if you love me at all, please forgive me.”

“All you had to do was tell the truth,” Woohyun said, and he found himself calmer than he ever could have expected. “I gave you one chance, and I said I that if you lied to me again, I would destroy you.”

Sungyeol looked hopeless, even as he begged from the floor. “Woohyun-ah, please, I know I should have told the truth. It was a mistake. I should never cheated on you or lied to you. I’ll never do it again.”

He was on his hands and knees now, knocking his head against the floor. But it did nothing to mollify the anger, resentment, and disappointment that Woohyun felt.

“Woohyun, I’m sorry. I’m begging you. Please. Forgive me. I did you wrong. I’ll do anything you want if I can be with you. I’ll make up for it.” He reached a hand up to wipe tears that were on his cheeks, and wiping his nose on a sleeve. 

“Make up for it!” Woohyun said through gritted teeth. “Do you think I’m a pushover? That you can get on your knees and beg a few times and I’ll forgive you for anything? That because you helped me recover from Sunggyu, I must forgive you? That if you say ‘Woohyun-ah’ enough times, you can worm your way into my heart? I gave you one chance. All you had to do was tell the truth one time, and now I can’t believe anything you say.”

“It was one time with Myungsoo, and then nothing came from it. Ever. Please, Woohyun, if you leave me you know I can’t live without you,” Sungyeol said. He reached one hand to grab the back of Woohyun’s knee, causing the other man to jerk away. “Please don’t leave me. I’ll tell you everything. Anything.”

“So you can lie to me again? Maybe you’ve actually fucked a dozen whores. Maybe you have a bastard son out there I don’t know about. Maybe you take bribes just like half of the politicians in the National Assembly.”

“No, no, I swear, on my life. You can kill me now if I lied. Everything else I said was the truth. Everything.”

Woohyun bent over, to grab Sungyeol by the lapels. “It must have been everything you wanted, right, Sungyeol? You had your National Assembly seat, you had money, you had fame, you had power, and you could show me off like your trophy. And best of all you could still have Myungsoo on the side.”

“It was never like that, Woohyun, you need to believe me,” said Sungyeol, voice hoarse as he sobbed. Sungyeol was bawling now, ugly tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Then what was it like?” Woohyun knew his face was harsh and unforgiving. Maybe he was even cruel.

“Please, Woohyun, our marriage was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“If you say ‘please’ even one more time,” Woohyun said with gritted teeth, even as he left the threat hanging.

Sungyeol gulped, looking away briefly before returning his gaze to implore his husband.

“I’m sorry,” Sungyeol whispered, and the air was filled with a daunting silence. Sungyeol’s voice was deathly quiet. “Are you going to leave me?”

Woohyun wanted to answer affirmatively. He wanted to scream in Sungyeol’s face that he was sick of the other man’s pathetic begging. He wanted to declare that he was leaving the other man forever. 

For just a brief second, he wanted to spit and tell Sungyeol everything. _Sunggyu. I fucked Sunggyu._

And then Woohyun felt a twinge of guilt. A small voice that whispered in his heart. _You married him because Sungyeol could be your husband when Sunggyu never could. But now you’ve fucked Sunggyu instead. Who else do you have? Who else will you find?_

Every other fiber in his body demanded that Woohyun say, then and there, that he was getting a divorce. But he held back. He had loved Sungyeol so much. Sungyeol, the man who had done so much for him. Sungyeol, the man who had already rescued him once. Sungyeol, the man who he could never truly hate.

Not like this. Not today. He would not end his marriage like this, screaming at Sungyeol in a restaurant. So he said something else. 

“I’ve already hired a divorce lawyer.”

And then he pushed past Sungyeol to leave the restaurant to leave for home. _His_ home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on Twitter [here](http://twitter.com/west_of_autumn). I welcome your thoughts, suggestions, and comments!


	14. Association in fact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not completely happy with this chapter either, but I think I did okay. And if I only published 'perfect' chapters, my output would be almost nil.

Sungyeol was behind him. Maybe temporarily, but maybe forever. He couldn’t look back. From today, at the very least, he would need to throw himself behind something else. Something that could take away the pain in his heart and the anger he felt at himself. A distraction. A lifeline.

And there were only two things that Woohyun could focus on, at this moment.

_Work. And Sunggyu._ Woohyun thought to himself.

There were things he was supposed to do, according to what his divorce lawyer had suggested. He was _supposed_ to be working on dividing up assets, to separate what belonged to Sungyeol and what belonged to him. Inventories of possessions, separating joint bank accounts, looking over tax returns. Everything that Woohyun didn’t even want to think about. Right now, at this moment, he didn’t even want to remember he was married.

And once, he had forgotten that he was married.

_Once, that one night with Sunggyu,_ Woohyun thought bitterly as he walked home. The memory of that night was on his lips, as if Sunggyu’s tongue was still on his, and as if the man’s hands still explored his body. Woohyun shook his head to clear himself of that thought, remembering the morning after.

Sunggyu, arrested in front of him! Two of the men he loved, arrested in front of him on two occasions, as if they were common criminals. And Sunggyu’s expression had been flat and unsurprised, as if being arrested for bribery had been a long time in the making. The man had been staring at his hands without emotion, even while the judge read out thirty criminal counts.

Woohyun walked home, thinking of the accusations against Sunggyu. He didn’t want to think he had slept with a corrupt lawyer, even as he remembered Sungyeol and the guilty plea. But Sunggyu was different. Sunggyu was the man he went to, when the situation with Sungyeol deteriorated. If he didn’t have Sunggyu, who did he have?

The next day, in the courthouse’s Department 4, Woohyun had a chance to see whether Sunggyu was a criminal after all.

There were eight people at the defendant’s table when Woohyun made his way to the courtroom’s gallery, but he only recognized half of them. The two defendants he knew were Sunggyu and Representative Kim Hyemin, accompanied by their respective lawyers. The other two defendants and their lawyers were unknown to him. Sunggyu remained utterly still, looking straight ahead as if he saw nothing. He was not wearing handcuffs today, but the older man’s hands were clenched together. None of the defendants ever looked at each other.

“Well, we’re here for a preliminary hearing in case number JL-1115-09, Prosecutor-General v. Kim Hyemin, and I’ve just been reassigned this case by the chief judge,” said Judge Byeon, a rather young judge in his late thirties, as he called the court to order. “The defense has also sought this hearing to file motions to dismiss charges of the indictment.”

“Yes,” said Sunggyu’s attorney. Lawyer Bang Yeojoon stood up now, walking straight to the podium in front of the judge. “I’ve received consent from the other defendants to argue the motion under Rule 14 of the Rules of Criminal Procedure, because my argument addresses common issues of law and fact. May I proceed?”

“Does the prosecution have any objection to the joint representation?” Judge Byeon asked the prosecutor. Woohyun recognized Prosecutor Yang from the preliminary hearing. 

“Not at this time,” said the prosecutor, without getting up from his seat.

“Then you may begin, Attorney Bang,” said the judge.

Attorney Bang spoke immediately. “Yes, Your Honor. Kim Hyemin, Kim Sunggyu, Chae Nohyun, and Park Youngjoon have jointly filed a motion to dismiss under Rule 14(a)(2)(b)(iii), for failure to state an offense. More specifically, the facts alleged by the prosecution fail to give rise to a violation of a charge of racketeering under Title 24, section 9989(a)(1). 

_Racketeering._ Even that word sounded sinister. Racketeering was a criminal accusation wielded against gangsters and mafias. It was not a word that should have been leveled at Sunggyu, a commercial lawyer.

Sunggyu’s defense lawyer continued. “This racketeering statute establishes that it is unlawful for a person to associate with an enterprise engaged in racketeering activity. Yet here, the facts alleged cannot establish a criminal enterprise. It is undisputed that there is no legal organization that all defendants are members of. Instead, the prosecution alleges an association-in-fact enterprise, inferred solely from the criminal activity the enterprise has been alleged to commit. This is impermissible.”

“What does Section 9989(a)(1) say explicitly about association-in-fact enterprises?” The judge asked, probing at the defense’s argument in a way that suggested skepticism to Woohyun.

“Nothing explicitly,” conceded Attorney Bang. “It was the Supreme Court in Jaemong Corp. v. Prosecutor that stated Section 9989 also prohibited an association in fact, as opposed to an association in law. The court held that a racketeering enterprise does not need to be a legal enterprise, as long as there were people associating for an overall course of illegal conduct. However, the prosecutor here is inferring an association based on common criminal activities. A course of illegal conduct is being used as evidence of an association formed to commit illegal conduct.”

The judge looked supremely unimpressed. “And how is that wrong?”

Attorney Bang gave a wince. Woohyun took that as an unhelpful sign for Sunggyu. “The prosecution is conflating the element of (a)(1)(b), requiring an enterprise, with (a)(1)(c), requiring a pattern of criminal activity. By saying criminal activity is proof of an enterprise, the prosecution’s argument would collapse the statute. Instead, a jury should be required to find an enterprise separately from finding a pattern.”

Judge Byeon raised an eyebrow. “So let’s say you have a group of people, and some of them say, ‘Let’s bribe this judge,’ and the group only exists to bribe judges, it’s not an enterprise under the statute?”

The attorney took a breath to calm himself before speaking. “We would say no, not under the Jaemong case. And the interpretation we offered in the motion would be more helpful and provide guidance. By requiring the state to prove that somebody is directing the group outside of committing crimes, the court would limit 9989(a)(1) to the criminal organizations that the National Assembly had in mind when drafting the statute.”

“But it’s settled law that 9989 isn’t limited to criminal organizations. It’s limited to racketeering enterprises. Jaemong Corp wasn’t a mafia. It was one of three tobacco companies accused of monopolistic practices,” said Judge Byeon, steepling his fingers before him.

“Yes, Your Honor, but the prosecution’s reading is overbroad. Under the prosecutor’s arguments, two men robbing two gas stations suddenly could count as a racketeering enterprise,” pointed out Attorney Bang.

“And what is the issue with that?” Judge Byeon said, his tone cool but biting.

“It’s beyond the intent of the statute or even an initial reading of it,” said Attorney Bang.

“So does your reading,” said the judge. “Nothing in 9989(a)(1) requires an enterprise to have a decision maker or formal structure. It doesn’t say anything about what constitutes the enterprise.”

“And we would technically agree, but the court should fill the statutory gap. An enterprise means, generally, structured organizations, and an association-in-fact enterprise should be a structured organization that nonetheless lacks legal standing. Inferring structure from a pattern of criminal activity should not be permitted. For that reason, the defendants request the racketeering charge be dismissed,” said Attorney Bang, clearing his throat and moving back to his seat.

Attorney Yang calmly strode to the podium and gave only a short rebuttal. “Your Honor, it’s settled that an association-in-fact enterprise is proven as long as there is a group of individuals banding together for a common purpose. 9989(a)(1) does not require a decision maker, or a formal structure, or anything else. The statute was intended to provide prosecutors with a tool to fight mafias, and the National Assembly intended for the statute to be given a broad construction.”

“What _wouldn’t_ be covered under the statute,” said the judge, seeming more interested in interrupting the prosecutor’s tempo than in getting an answer.

“Individual activity. 9989(a)(1) was intended as a versatile tool for fighting criminal groups, which of course can shape and reform in various ways. Because the racketeering statute was meant to combat all forms of organized crime, it should be interpreted to prohibit all criminal organizations. The court should therefore take the broadest interpretation of the statute. Thank you.”

The prosecutor took his seat without further comment from the judge, who had clearly made up his mind when he addressed the defendants.

“Attorney Bang, Prosecutor Yang, the court has read your motions and listened to your arguments. The court hereby rules that Title 24, section 9989(a)(1) allows the prosecution to allege an association-in-fact enterprise based solely on the alleged criminal activity. The motion to dismiss is denied, and your error is preserved on appeal.” The judge was calm, looking at both attorneys, and it was clear that neither argument had changed his mind.

Woohyun exhaled. He could have guessed, based on the judge’s attitude at oral argument, that this result would ensue.

“Well, then,” said the judge, shuffling papers. “We are now ready to proceed with the preliminary hearing. Does the prosecution intend to call any witnesses?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” said Prosecutor Yang, standing up. “The prosecution first calls Judge Yeom Doeun to the stand.”

Woohyun jerked upright. There were murmurs in the courtroom all around him. Judges usually commanded a courtroom from the bench. They were rarely in the witness stand, under oath. And the judge today was a judge he knew.

He had a poor impression of Judge Yeom. Other attorneys at SLG had complained about her in various ways. She was almost famous for being late to court or berating lawyers. Woohyun had found her to be rigid and conservative, but he had only practiced before her twice. And that memory reminded him of something else.

_Sunggyu_ had once asked him to argue a case before Judge Yeom. As Woohyun continued to think, he realized more details were becoming suspicious. 

_”I can’t go before these judges. I argued a case before two of them last year, and they really do not want to see me,”_ Sunggyu had said, and Woohyun had chalked up the other man’s response to an embarrassing oral argument. But the details were aligning. One of the other judges in that panel, Judge Won Joonbum, was now accused of receiving bribes.

All eyes in the courtroom were on the judge who now marching imperiously into the witness box. The only way she could have looked more official if she was wearing her judge’s robes. Judge Byeon looked just as surprised, but nodded as Judge Yeom was sworn in.

“Judge Yeom,” started Prosecutor Yang, circling the witness stand. “Where do you practice law?”

The judge was looking only at the defendant’s table with a loathing glare. “I’m a judge in Changdong, in Department 7. I’ve been a judge for twelve years.”

“Who appointed you?” Continued the prosecutor.

“President Yoon Hyunmi,” said the judge.

“And what did you do before that?”

“I defended labor unions for ten years before I was appointed to the bench.”

Woohyun took that news with mild surprise. He had assumed that such a pro-prosecution judge would have worked in government first.

“Do you recognize any of the defendants from your judicial practice?” The prosecutor asked, seeming more cautious than necessary.

Judge Yeom nodded. “Yes, I recognize two of the defendants from when they talked to me about a case.”

“Which defendants are those?” 

“The two men on the far left in the grey suits. I recognize Attorney Chae Nohyun and Attorney Kim Sunggyu.” The judge threw another harsh glare at the two lawyers.

“Your Honor,” said the prosecutor to Judge Byeon, “could the record reflect that the witness has correctly identified the two defendants?”

“It will,” replied the judge, “and you may continue.”

“And why do you remember them?” The prosecutor asked Judge Yeom, turning to look at the entire courtroom gallery.

“Because they tried to bribe me,” the judge said, and another wave of murmurs rose throughout the gallery.

Woohyun kept staring at Sunggyu, hoping for some reaction that could tell him whether Sunggyu was guilty or innocent. The older lawyer had just been accused of bribery! But the man seemed not to have heard, only continuing to stare before him. Woohyun tried to trace Sunggyu’s eyes, but the man’s stare was unresponsive, like he was lost inside another world.

“When was this?” Said the prosecutor, pressing the issue.

“It was over a year ago, and maybe almost two,” answered the judge, looking at the prosecutor. “There was a case before me, pitting Ohjin Industries versus Joonghak Development Corporation. Joonghak sued Ohjin, alleging that the defendant had improperly fixed various securities, in an attempt to corner the markets in iron ore. Ohjin had countersued.”

“And what happened after the lawsuit was filed?” The prosecutor asked.

“Ohjin filed a motion for summary dismissal, arguing that Joonghak had failed to state a claim. I denied Ohjin’s motion.”

“And were the two defendants the attorneys of record?”

“No, neither of them were. Both sides were represented by in-house counsel.”

“So how did the two defendants appear before you?”

“I have no idea what brought the two specifically before me, but Attorney Chae talked to me first. It was at a luncheon celebrating the retirement of another judge. Attorney Chae asked if he could speak to me in chambers purely on a social visit. Apparently there was a fundraiser he wanted to invite me to, and he wanted to discuss the details with me.”

“Did he?”

“No,” the judge explained. “When we went to my chambers, Attorney Chae explained that a friend of his friend was concerned about the Ohjin decision. I told him I couldn’t speak about an ongoing case ex parte, but he continued to press on. He stated that the Ohjin decision was wrong, and he knew somebody who would pay me $45,000 if summary judgment was granted for Ohjin instead.”

“And what was your reaction?”

“I told him to get out of my office immediately, and that I would report him to the police.”

“And did you?”

“I did.”

“But that didn’t stop Ohjin, did it?”

“No,” the judge answered venomously. “Or rather, it didn’t stop the person who sent Attorney Chae. Somebody sent the second lawyer, Kim Sunggyu, before me instead.”

“How?”

“I don’t know how he found me, but he showed up at my chamber with a briefcase in hand asking if I could speak. I didn’t know him personally, but I let him in to see what he wanted. And then he said he wanted a deal regarding Ohjin.

“How so?”

“The lawyer argued I should just take the new bribe. Sunggyu argued vigorously that very powerful and influential people were disappointed with the Ohjin litigation, and that they could offer more. The attorney offered me $72,000 for dismissing the lawsuit against Ohjin, and he said it was a fair price. After all, Joonghak was a much smaller company, and the evidence against Ohjin would be difficult to prove before a jury.”

“And did he offer anything physical at that time?”

“Yes, he did,” said the judge, continuing to glare. “He had the gall to open his briefcase before me, and show me its contents. It was piled full of $100 dollar bills. According to him, all $72,000 would be provided for me immediately, if I would just sign the draft of the motion to dismiss.”

“And did you?”

“No. I told him to get out of my office, that I was contacting the authorities, and that if I ever saw him practice in front of me, I would call the police on him.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” said the prosecutor with a nod of his head. He turned to Judge Byeon. “And thank you, Your Honor. The prosecution is done with this witness.”

And as the prosecutor walked away, Woohyun could only look at Sunggyu. The other attorney looked the same as before. Sunggyu did not radiate calm. His stare was instead blank, and he did not flinch throughout the entire testimony. All he did was blink and clench his hands together.

_Sunggyu, how could you?_ thought Woohyun, heartbroken. And he didn’t know whether to be angry or sad or indifferent. Sunggyu was _not_ his husband, and not even his boyfriend, but he had loved the man once. And more importantly than that, he remembered Sunggyu as being an entirely honest man. _Except for the cheating. Both of them have cheated._

But nonetheless, the idea that Sunggyu could be sitting behind bars terrified Woohyun. It was a gripping, cold feeling that started in Woohyun’s throat and trickled down like melting ice. Nobody he ever knew had faced a long prison sentence. He had never been afraid that Sungyeol would spend long years in jail. Those charges had always been overblown or downright false. But Sunggyu was accused of the most serious crimes. And the older man showed no reaction to that possibility of conviction.

“Attorney Moon Hyunsook, do you wish to start cross-examination?” Judge Byeon asked, turning towards Kim Hyemin’s lawyer.

“We’ll reserve at this moment,” said the lawyer, putting her hand to her chin. Nothing in Judge Yeom’s testimony had incriminated her client.

“What about Attorney Bang Yeojoon?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” said the lawyer, striding over to face the judge. “Judge Yeom, did my client, Kim Sunggyu, ever mention where the money came from?”

“No,” said the judge, snapping. “But I don’t think he was paying out of his own pocket through the goodness of his heart.”

Sunggyu’s attorney gave a glare of his own, turning to Judge Byeon. “Objection, non-responsive.”

Judge Byeon pursed his lips as he admonished Judge Yeom, who had greater seniority than he did. “Your Honor, please just answer yes or no.”

The judge’s bemused expression suggested she considered the admonition more of a suggestion as opposed to an order.

“And did Sunggyu ever mention Attorney Chae Nohyun?” The defense attorney continued.

“Not by name, no, but he referenced the failed bribe attempt.”

“Did he mention who told him about you?”

“No.”

“Before this alleged incident, had Sunggyu ever argued in court before you?”

“No.”

“Before this alleged incident, did he put his name on any briefs before you?”

“No.”

“Have you met him before or after the events you described?”

“No.”

“Did Sunggyu ever reference Kim Hyemin?”

“No.”

“Kwon Hyunjoon?”

“No.”

“Han Jaeseong?”

“No.”

“Moon Bumki, CEO of Ohjin Industries?”

“No.”

“Did the defendant, Kim Sunggyu, ever say he was offering a bribe to you on behalf of Representative Kim Hyemin?”

Judge Yeom was silent for a moment before answering.

“No, he didn’t.”

“Did Kim Sunggyu ever say he was offering a bribe on behalf of anybody specific?”

The judge leaned back to peer at Attorney Bang with distrustful eyes. “No, he never mentioned any specific names.”

“No further questions,” said Attorney Bang.

And there were further questions from the two defense lawyers he didn’t know, one man and one woman, but Woohyun didn’t pay attention to them. He continued to watch Sunggyu warily, hoping for a break, or some sign of emotion that his ex-boyfriend had an opinion about the court proceedings. But Sunggyu remained as blank as before.

It changed when Moon Hyunsook began questioning the witness belligerently.

“Judge Yeom,” said Attorney Moon, folding her arms in front of her chest. “Have you ever taken a bribe?”

“No,” the judge snapped.

“But you know of other judges who have, right?”

“I’ve heard of judges who take bribes, yes,” said the judge.

“If you saw bribery, you’d report it.”

“Any day of the week,” came the response, as the two women stared daggers at each other.

“So all of the other accusations, against Judge Won or Judge Roh or so forth, you have no knowledge of any of that?”

“Absolutely none.”

“But you’ve been a judge for some time.”

“For over a decade.”

“But you didn’t know about this bribery scheme until this year.”

“Objection!” Prosecutor Yang said, finally taking the time to speak up. “Where is the defense going with this? We’re going in circles.”

“Isn’t it convenient that Judge Yeom supposedly had no knowledge of bribery until this case dropped in her lap?” Attorney Moon said, leering at the prosecutor.

“And I resent that,” interjected the judge. “I’m right here.”

“Counselors, get to your points,” said Judge Byeon, frowning.

And then the defense attorney said something that finally provoked a reaction from Sunggyu.

“So then, why do you think Kim Sunggyu would allegedly have tried to bribe you?” Attorney Moon said.

“Maybe because I can’t be bribed?” Judge Yeom retorted.

And Sunggyu moved. 

It was just a tiny motion, a slight nod to himself as Sunggyu cast his eyes down to the table in front of him for the first time in the entire hearing. It was just a slight gesture, in which Sunggyu sucked in his cheeks for just a fraction of a second, as his eyes flickered. It was a move that Woohyun thought the entire courtroom would have missed. But _he_ didn’t miss its meaning.

He had seen it so many times before. It was Sunggyu’s guilty look.

It was the only reaction Woohyun saw, but it was all he needed to see. Ten years was not enough to change the way Sunggyu thought and moved and breathed.

Woohyun silently moved from his seat as Attorney Moon continued to cross-examine the judge, because he didn’t need to hear any more.

If Sunggyu was guilty, the question would be _what_ Woohyun would need to do to save his ex-boyfriend from prosecution, not _whether_ he would need to do so.

**\---**

Every second he spent on work in his office was one second he wasn’t spending at home. One more second he didn’t have to think about Sungyeol, begging on the floor of the restaurant for him to come home. He had already blocked Sungyeol’s number, to stop the man from calling him. He would not be talking to Sungyeol for some time. He could drown himself in work instead.

“You’re sure you don’t need more time?” Attorney Gil was always kind, even though she remained visibly worried about SLG. “You’re already handling a criminal rape case, and you want to take on more work?”

“Yes,” Woohyun nodded, as he looked around Sunggyu’s office. The workspace was remarkably clean and organized, with files in their respective boxes and a sparse desk. Art hung from the walls: paintings with drab geometric designs, signed by people Woohyun had never heard of. There was a potted plant by the window, but the office gave an otherwise sterile and colorless feel.

“Attorney Kim Sunggyu dealt with a substantial number of cases,” cautioned Attorney Gil, as she sat in the chair across from where Sunggyu would have sat. She gestured to the piles of papers that she intended to move to Woohyun’s office. “These are just the cases that we’ve cleared. We reviewed all of these files to make sure there are no references to any criminal activity. None of the accused judges, politicians, or businessmen have visibly touched these cases, but you need to tell us as soon as possible if you uncover anything to the contrary.”

Woohyun nodded again. Attorneys Gil and Lim had asserted to prosecutors that the rogue lawyers were acting beyond their authority in bribing judges. To prove it, they and their clients had provided evidence that Sunggyu and others were acting in a personal capacity when it came to the criminal allegations. “I won’t let any criminal allegations spread further. This firm gave me a job, and I’m grateful for it.”

“That’s good to hear,” Attorney Gil said with a smile. She began shuffling the papers before her. “I know how busy you must be, dealing with the rape case, so I’m letting you look over the files to decide which ones you want to take on. Remember, we will hire outside counsel for most of these cases, and the Reinergen litigation has been delayed, so do not feel obligated to take on more cases than you can handle. You can tell me that you don’t want any of this work.”

Woohyun began picking up some of the files. “Sunggyu handled a few criminal cases, but I think I have my hands full for criminal matters. And I don’t know anything about bankruptcy law, so I think we should hand those cases to another attorney. But I can pick up the slack for Reinergen, because I’m already familiar with that case.” He looked at a box filled with confidential memos, research memoranda, and scientific reports.

“Good, that’s perfect,” said Attorney Gil. “Though, if you’re really interested in more work, you can look over the rest of the cases. If you know something about each case, you can liaison with the outside lawyers we’re bringing on as substitutes.”

“That’s just reading. I’m sure that won’t be an issue,” said Woohyun with a smile. But he had to bring up another issue. “But what if,” he said with a hesitant pause and a frown, “it’s not temporary? If we’re going to need outside attorneys to permanently deal with Sunggyu’s cases?”

“You mean if he actually did it?” Attorney Gil was surprisingly blunt, even though her expression had returned to neutral.

Woohyun nodded with hesitation. “If Sunggyu never comes back to this office.”

The senior attorney took a moment to lean back into her chair and pause. After half a minute, she was forced to answer honestly. “We’ll hire somebody else. I trust in the justice system. If Sunggyu committed bribery, he’ll be convicted. If he’s innocent, he’ll be acquitted. I do not believe this will be a case that will hinge on reasonable doubt.”

“He was accused this week of taking bribes,” said Woohyun. “I heard Judge Yeom accuse him, in open court, of trying to bribe her.”

Attorney Gil nodded. “It’s no surprise to me that Judges Won and Choi were arrested. But I think Judge Yeom is an honest one.”

Woohyun pressed the topic. “Would you still fire Sunggyu if there’s strong evidence that he committed bribery, but not enough evidence to actually convict him?”

Attorney Gil gave a nod. “If that did happen, _and_ the bar revokes his license, then I will suggest to the other partners that we fire Sunggyu. But I’m not worried about that.”

“Why not?” Woohyun said, with some confusion.

“Because most defendants are guilty,” Attorney Gil said warily.

Woohyun bit a lip. “Sunggyu is presumed innocent.”

“The presumption of innocence is a legal concept,” said the SLG partner. “It’s an unspoken rule that most defendants are guilty, but we pretend that all of them might be innocent.”

“Because we want to protect the innocent,” responded Woohyun.

“Exactly. I know I should think Sunggyu is guilty, even as I hope to myself that he isn’t. I believe the truth will come out at trial.”

Attorney Gil stated the truth, and Woohyun couldn’t think of any reason to disagree with her. So he departed, taking the box of new files with him to his office.

Sunggyu clearly had done something wrong, Woohyun acknowledged. But later, Woohyun realized that it was the timing of Sunggyu’s guilty expression that had bothered him. The other lawyer hadn’t flinched when a judge accused him of bribery in open court. It was the judge’s quote that stuck out to Woohyun. 

_Can’t be bribed,_ thought Woohyun to himself, and he was brought back to a conversation ages ago with Sunggyu, back when the two of them were still dating.

_”I don’t think it’s that special that you’re the son of a President,” Sunggyu had said in Woohyun’s dorm room. “All politicians are corrupt.”_

_Woohyun had frowned. “My family’s reputation is utterly clean. We can’t be bribed.”_

_And then Sunggyu stood up to scoff. “Everybody can be bribed. Everybody’s connected to something dirty.”_

It didn’t make sense to Woohyun. Sunggyu had despised corruption. As far as he remembered, Sunggyu didn’t vote. To him, the liberal party was just as bad as the conservative party. Judges were as bad as lawyers, and everybody was dishonest. Sunggyu had explicitly criticized judges for their willingness to take bribes. The man’s visceral hatred of dishonesty had lead Woohyun to think that Sunggyu was honest.

It wasn’t just dishonesty too. It was _partisanship_. Kim Hyemin wasn’t just a normal politician. She was a right-wing _firebrand,_ whose Christian orthodoxy underlied a strict sense of conservatism. The Representative had nearly become a presidential nominee for the conservative opposition, when Woohyun was back in college. Woohyun could still remember her bitter attacks, dragging him into the presidential election. Representative Kim questioned whether President Lee Soonho could be a suitable President given Woohyun’s ‘unsuitable lifestyle choices.’ And after the election, Representative Kim resumed her role as a pillar of the conservative party.

For Sunggyu to associate himself with the height of the conservative establishment meant that the older man either Sunggyu was always a hypocrite of the highest order, or he had succumbed to some deeper temptation. It made Woohyun … curious.

It would be easy for Woohyun to seek an explanation. All he had to do was pick up his phone and call the other man. But what would he ask?

_Sunggyu, I haven’t talked to you since the night that I fucked you and destroyed every vow I swore to my husband, but could you talk about getting arrested?_ Woohyun thought to himself with a bitter smile. That opening line would not have worked.

No, if he was going to understand how Sunggyu fit into this corruption scandal, he would need to explore the one thread that bound the entire conspiracy together. He remembered Attorney Lim’s statement: Sunggyu, Attorneys Chae and Park, and Representatives Kim and Han all attended Heemang Presbyterian. There would only be one way for him to explore what Sunggyu was thinking: Woohyun would be going to church.

The lawyer gave a sigh, and returned to his work. The work never ended. He hoped it never would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on Twitter [here](http://www.twitter.com/west_of_autumn). I welcome your thoughts, suggestions, and comments!


	15. Direct examination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I expect to write one more update in April and one more in May. I hope readers enjoy this chapter.

It was a drab, overcast Sunday in Changdong when Woohyun visited church for the first time in a decade. The sun was obscured by clouds, and a chill was settled in the air, but he proceeded to go, believing that he would learn something that would illuminate something new about Sunggyu.

But before that, he decided he had to tell somebody.

In many ways, Woohyun didn’t want to talk with Sungyeol again, but it was only right to let his estranged husband know first. After all, it would not be easy for him to simply stroll into Sunday services at Heemang Presbyterian.

There were only a few things Woohyun had learned about this church, and none of the details surprised him. Heemang Presbyterian was located in Taeju, an upscale and wealthy neighborhood north of the capital city. The church’s leadership was famous for three traits: their traditionalist sermons, political involvement, and opulent lifestyles. Woohyun expected that his presence at the country’s most conservative megachurch would set tongues wagging, especially if he arrived without his husband. For his sake, and for Sungyeol’s sake, he would need to let his husband know he would be visiting.

And Woohyun made the call.

Unsurprisingly, church was the last thing his husband wanted to discuss.

“Woohyun? Woohyun?” Sungyeol’s voice was unsteady, as he was not quite sure who was on the other line.

“Yes, it’s me, Woohyun,” he answered softly, even as Woohyun stilled himself for the avalanche of apologies he knew would inevitably follow. “I wanted to give you notice about something, so I don’t blind-side you.”

“Please, Woohyun,” said, Sungyeol, voice choked with concern, “I’ve been thinking every day since the last time we talked, and I know you’re thinking about divorce, but please just give me another chance. I’ll come over right now.”

“It’s not about that,” said Woohyun, in a soft voice. And if he could be honest, he would have told Sungyeol that thinking about divorce was harsh on him as well. He could not even bear to call his divorce lawyer, and it had been painful to even type an email to her saying that he had let Sungyeol know about his intent. And he did not want to talk about that topic right now. “It’s about something else, I promise. Please, Sungyeol, let’s not talk about that. I’m tired.”

There was a pause on the other end, and Woohyun inferred optimism from that silence. Yet when Sungyeol spoke again, the other man was no more hopeful than before.

“Is there something you want, Woohyun? I promise I’ll try to give it to you,” Sungyeol said, instantly moving into negotiation mode. “I’ll make up for—for what I did.”

And Woohyun could tell that Sungyeol was purposely trying to avoid saying one word. _Myungsoo. He can’t say Myungsoo._

Woohyun shook his head though Sungyeol couldn’t have seen. “It’s not about that, or even about us,” Woohyun said with a sigh. “I’m going to church tomorrow.”

There was a pause, and Woohyun swore he could have heard Sungyeol whisper “What?” underneath his breath.

“You’re going to—,” and Sungyeol gave a slight pause. “Church? That’s what you’re going to tell me?”

“Yes, and there’s a reason you should want to know,” Woohyun said, continuing.

Sungyeol gave an audible breath of relief. “ _That’s_ what you wanted to tell me?” Sungyeol said, trying to laugh off the situation, as if he had not been on the verge of begging mere seconds earlier. “Woohyun-ah, you scared me.”

Woohyun only gritted his teeth and continued. “I’m thinking of going to Heemang Presbyterian Church in Taeju tomorrow.”

And then Sungyeol made another confused sound. “Heemang?”

“I take it that you’ve heard of it,” Woohyun said flatly, and it wasn’t a question. 

“Heemang Presbyterian? That’s a famously conservative church. Woohyun, you haven’t—I don’t get this. I thought you were an atheist,” Sungyeol said, and his voice was confused. “Why are you going to church, and why Heemang?”

Woohyun sighed, as he debated with himself whether he should tell Sungyeol the full story. _Because right now, I care more about helping out an ex-boyfriend than I care about you,_ he could have said. But he didn’t want a fight, and no matter how much he wanted to be gentle with Sungyeol, he knew their conversation could soon become acrimonious. Yet at the same time, the idea of lying to Sungyeol was already leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. It would not be impossible to let his husband know about _something._

“I _am_ an atheist, Sungyeol. I can still go to church. I haven’t suddenly found religion, and I’m not going there to send a message about us,” Woohyun decided to say, deciding he could be honest to that extent. “I know how it would look if I showed at an evangelical church without my husband. That’s what I wanted to tell you.”

“I know about Heemang. It’s famous, and it’s politically connected. I know three or four politicians who go there,” said Sungyeol, thinking out loud. His tone remained perplexed, and Woohyun didn’t fault him. “You’re going to one of the most socially conservative churches in the country. Heemang allied with the Catholic bishops to fight same-sex marriage for years. It’s a pillar for conservatives across the country. I don’t get this.”

“Sungyeol, Sungyeol,” said Woohyun, trying to get his husband back on track. “You’re on the right track. Who do you know goes to Heemang?”

“Park Hoonki, Koo Minjae, Kim Hyemin,” said Sungyeol, thinking out loud again. “Wait, is that it? Is this about Kim Hyemin? Are you trying to meet Sunggyu too?”

Sungyeol’s realization made Woohyun halt temporarily, forcing him to realize that he had not considered that possibility. Woohyun had told himself that he would go to learn something _about_ Sunggyu. He had not considered his options if he were to actually see Sunggyu. And for just a second, he felt foolish about himself as well. How could he have forgotten that Lee Sungyeol, once a bright young prosecutor, was also an analytical and intelligent man? So Woohyun took a second to think before he answered.

“No, I’m not trying to meet Sunggyu. I haven’t talked to him since his arrest. I’m not doing this for my law firm or for Sunggyu. I’m doing this for me. I want to learn,” explained Woohyun.

“But you know that if you go there, people will start asking questions and try to find out why you, the son of a liberal President, is visiting a conservative church that won’t welcome you,” said Sungyeol.

“People will ask questions, but I will still go anyways,” said Woohyun, after taking time to think. “I’m doing this for me. Not for anybody else.”

Sungyeol paused again, and his tone was unsure. “But about divorce,” said Sungyeol, returning to his original topic. “You’re not serious about leaving me, are you? Please tell me you were joking, Woohyun. You know I don’t know how to live without you.”

For a brief moment, Woohyun wanted to snap and retort. _Why don’t you find Myungsoo? Maybe there’s a man out there who will blindly overlook your flaws and pretend your word means something!?_ But he didn’t say that. He knew no good could come from that. _If I mention Myungsoo’s name, I will say something I can never take back._

“Sungyeol, I told you everything before, and I was completely honest. I have nothing more to say,” Woohyun answered. And he waited, with bated breath, for Sungyeol’s reaction. If he was correct, Sungyeol would take the chance to grovel and beg for yet another chance. And then Woohyun could hate his husband even more.

But Sungyeol was quiet. “Enjoy your time tomorrow. I hope you find what you are looking for.”

“Goodbye, Sungyeol,” Woohyun whispered.

“I hope it doesn’t end here,” came the reply.

And for a second, the two of them were quiet, listening to the other breathing without hanging up. And then Woohyun exhaled again, and ended the call.

****

**\---**

“I didn’t expect a greeter and a handler,” said Woohyun, forcing a smile. “I’m glad I called ahead.”

“Oh, of course you’d be welcome here,” said the church volunteer greeting him. He was a short man, with a heavy build and deep voice, probably twice Woohyun’s age. “The son of a President will always be welcome here at Heemang.”

“Really?” Woohyun gave a smile at the man assigned by the church. “If I remember correctly, Heemang’s pastors endorsed Lee Eundo over Lee Soonho. They described my mother like she was the Devil.”

The man took Woohyun by the arm and tried a disarming smile. The attempt at conciliation failed, and Woohyun’s expression remained skeptical. The man looked slightly taken aback as he answered. “That’s politics, and you know it. Politicians may call each other demons in public, but afterwards they’ll meet in smoke-filled rooms and negotiate a deal.”

“Smoking is banned in the National Assembly building,” Woohyun pointed out wryly.

“Have you tried to get Choi Gilsoo to stop? The woman’s a veritable smokestack,” said the volunteer with a roll of his eyes, now pointing Woohyun towards the church’s VIP section. “And Park Hoonki is great at quitting. He’s done it thousands of time.”

“Representative Kang,” said Woohyun with a smile. “You’re not informing on your fellow Congressmen, are you?”

The politician gave Woohyun a pat on the back. “Of course not. Your lips are sealed, right?”

Woohyun wanted to roll his eyes, but even an infamous backstabber like Kang Jaebong deserved the respect due his office. So Woohyun gave a forced smile and nodded his head. The politician continued to guide Woohyun to a seat in the very front of the congregation, where everybody could see him. So Woohyun sat down, conscious of the voices and whispers around him. As he expected, many of the churchgoers were taking an interest in a President’s son. However, Woohyun did not see Sunggyu or any of the politicians he expected. As such, he leaned back in his chair, waiting for the service to begin.

It was a surprisingly ordinary service. The choir began with two hymns about faith in the Lord and the transforming power of the divine. A group of musicians played two contemporary pieces about salvation and forgiveness. And then the sermon itself began. 

The pastor was, of course, a man. The country may have elected four different female Presidents, but the pulpits remained stubbornly patriarchal. But the pastor’s message was also commonplace, nothing like the fire-and-brimstone message that Woohyun had expected. Instead, the pastor delivered a message about the Gospels, encouraging the congregants to put their faith in their Creator instead of themselves. If Woohyun had even the slightest religious inclination, he could have been encouraged by the message. And then the pastor closed the service with a prayer, encouraging the churchgoers to seek divine favor for earthly troubles.

It was no different from all the other church services he had attended before. He had attended other churches growing up, liberal and conservative, accompanied by his parents as part of political outreach. This was no different than any of them. Yet something about this church had strongly changed Sunggyu, and Woohyun was no closer to the answer than he was before.

“Was the message to your liking, Mr. Nam Woohyun?” The politician to Woohyun’s side asked, as the two rose from their seats.

“It could be called inspirational,” Woohyun answered blandly, as he turned around and tried to decide his next course of action.

“Good, good,” said the politician with a nod. “And are you staying for lunch? There are some people the church would like you to meet. I’ll introduce them to you.”

“Is that really necessary, Representative Kang? Is it fitting for a politician like you to work like a servant?” Woohyun asked. He guessed that the man did not generally play the part of a greeter and usher.

“Oh, it’s absolutely fitting,” the man answered. “If we are called to serve, we must first learn to humble ourselves.”

Woohyun kept quiet. _Somebody_ influential was sending the politician to act as a toady, and he could guess why. So he let Representative Kang escort him, as they headed towards the church’s cafeteria. He expected to take a seat along with the churchgoers lining up for lunch, but instead, Kang pushed past the throng into the kitchen.

There were about two dozen men and women milled around preparing lunch. And Woohyun gave a grimace as he spotted a thickset, imposing woman wearing a hairnet and a set of gloves. It was Representative Kim Hyemin.

He paused, turning briefly to the politician next to him, wondering if he was expected to have a private conversation with Representative Kim. 

“Well, I’ll leave you here. I don’t think you’ll need an introduction,” said Representative Kang, who gave Kim Hyemin a smile and waved goodbye.

And it was Woohyun and the Representative and a crowd of people in the other end of the kitchen. The politician was the first to speak. “Nam Woohyun. Good to meet you. I haven’t seen you since you were a child,” she said, briefly looking up from the roll of kimbap that she was making. “Would you care to lend a hand? The church’s lunch crew is a bit understaffed today.”

Woohyun arched an eyebrow and gestured at his clothes. “This suit is custom-tailored Italian wool,” he pointed out.

Kim Hyemin looked at him with a cool, supercilious expression. “Was that a yes or a no? There’s a coatroom in the corner. Roll up your sleeves and get a hairnet.”

Woohyun grimaced and swallowed. He would be lying if he denied that the woman was forceful, and normally he would have marched away if somebody spoke to him in such a tone. Yet he was here to gather information, and information was staring him in the face. He gave a nod, mockingly. “I’d be glad to help,” he said, and followed the woman’s suggestions.

Two minutes later, Woohyun and Representative Kim were in a quieter corner of the kitchen. He thought she would get right to some point, about Sunggyu or the President or even Sungyeol. Instead, she kept critiquing his culinary skills.

“You have to spread the rice out evenly. Not like that, you’re clumping the rice along the edges,” she kept saying, glancing at the kimbap Woohyun was preparing.

“I’m trying!” Woohyun protested, and the two of them continued in place. Representative Kim soon moved onto other topics, to pass the time.

“How have you been? How are your parents? Your work? Is your health alright?” She had yet to mention Sungyeol or Sunggyu. “You don’t go to church? We’d love to have you here.”

And it was halfway through lunch before the kitchen finally cleared. Woohyun handed his dozen kimbap rolls to another church volunteer, before stepping back and snapping off his gloves.

“Representative Kim, can I talk to you in private?” He said, staring for a second.

“I have nothing to hide,” came the reply. “But if you want some privacy, I can oblige.”

Woohyun nodded. And a minute later, he followed the Representative into an empty room. “We can talk here, she said, pointing at a pair of seats.

After making himself seated, Woohyun placed his hands in his lap and looked the politician in the eye. “You’re sure this room is private?”

“You seem paranoid,” said the politician, smirking slightly.

“I was raised to assume that all of my conversations are being recorded,” Woohyun shot back, trying to seize momentum in their conversation. 

“Even now?”

“Especially now.”

“As you wish,” said Representative Kim with a sigh. “I give you my assurances. Now what would you like to talk about?”

“I want to know what you did with Sunggyu,” said Woohyun, on the brink of a snarl, and the woman gave a sinister laugh.

“I didn’t do anything to Kim Sunggyu. He’s your friend, I’m guessing? That’s why you’re here now,” she said. “Though it’s strange that you brought him up. I wonder why you’re here today without Sungyeol. I hope there aren’t any difficulties in your relationship.”

Her insight cut into Woohyun’s heart. “My relationship with Sungyeol is none of your business, and you’re avoiding my topic.”

“And I apologize. But I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Representative Kim. In her bluntness, she did not even bother pretending to speak in good faith. 

“You better be honest,” said Woohyun. “If you’re forcing Sunggyu to do your dirty work, by blackmail or extortion or duress, then you _will_ regret this. Sunggyu was my friend in school, and he’s my coworker now. I do _not_ want to see him hurt in some political game.”

“A game? The Prosecutor-General charged Sunggyu with thirty felonies. It’s hardly a laugh,” said Representative Kim.

“He was charged with more counts than you. He’s looking at twenty years. You’re looking at five or six.”

“And again, that’s the Prosecutor-General’s call. If you don’t like it, petition her instead. This overcharging is discouraging to both you and me.”

Woohyun could only glare, even as feelings inside him raced to get out. _Sunggyu is a good person. He shouldn’t have been caught up with the likes of you!_ He wanted to explode, as this condescending woman looked at him with cold eyes.

“You are not going to make Sunggyu your scapegoat,” he shot back. “I’ve heard enough rumors about you, including how you’ve bent the justice system. Embezzlement, insider trading, money-laundering, blackmail, kickbacks, everything.”

Kim Hyemin remained unflappable. “Who do you think I am? Some mafia godfather?”

“I do,” said Woohyun, getting heated at her lack of emotion. “I think you corrupted Sunggyu!”

And then she said something that cut again at Woohyun, forcing the man to pause and stare.

“Sunggyu hasn’t changed in ten years.” And she was leering now, even if her tone remained cool.

That statement knocked the breath out of Woohyun. It was a benign statement, and Kim Hyemin’s words said nothing about corruption or her influence on Sunggyu, but it’s effect was still devastating. And Woohyun was aware that she couldn’t have known Sunggyu ten years ago. But her tone filled Woohyun with doubt. _If Sunggyu was corrupt now, then what was he ten years ago?_

Woohyun bit his lip, still staring at the politician. He saw that her eyes were bemused at provoking him even as her facial expression remained neutral. So he gulped, beginning to understand something about her. She truly was a pillar, able to face down any opposition in her way. A weak man would easily have succumbed to her will. Even stronger men could be persuaded to conform to her interests. It would take an absolutely iron resolve to resist. He had hoped Sunggyu would be a man who could withstand the allure of corruption, but had Woohyun really known him?

He had to take the offensive, or this woman might win over him too.

“He was barely a man ten years ago. Everybody is stupid in their twenties,” said Woohyun.

“Is that so?” She said, and Woohyun expected something else that would hit close to his heart. His expectations were fulfilled. “Yet I married when I was thirty-two, not twenty-two.”

That statement was calm, so measured in tempo and calm in delivery that it must have been rehearsed, and Woohyun took it like a slap to his face. He spluttered, staring, incredulous. Kim Hyemin’s eyes remained listless, like a cat that had finished toying with a mouse.

“We’re done here,” he finally snapped, reaching for his coat jacket and seeing if the politician would let him have the last word. And to his shock, she did, and after a pause of several seconds, her expression registered boredom.

After having had the last word, Woohyun was forced to speak again. “Remember what I said,” Woohyun shot, turning on his heels. But even he could tell that his words lacked force or power.

****

**\---**

“Okay, is everybody here for UY-0034-02, Prosecutor-General v. Uhm Changshik?” The judge asked, peering around the courtroom. “They are? Good. Representations are in order.”

“Yes, we are. Nam Woohyun here on behalf of Uhm Changshik, who is present and out of custody. We’ve already filed several motions for compelling discovery, which the prosecution has not opposed,” Woohyun said, standing up briefly.

“Cho Sungjin, representing the prosecutor’s office,” said his counterpart, a thin and elegant woman with a supreme look of confidence. “We’re reviewed the discovery motions and we’ve concluded they are fair. We’re not opposing the discovery motions. We can then proceed to the next step.”

“Alright,” Judge Park said, turning again to Woohyun. “In that case, we can begin with the preliminary hearing, correct? You’re ready?” The judge turned to the prosecutor. “And the witnesses are ready?”

“Of course,” said Prosecutor Cho, nodding her head. “The prosecution calls Kang Hyunseo as its first witness.”

Woohyun only sat in his chair and watched as the witness was sworn in to take the stand. And he wasn’t sure what he would need to do as a lawyer. The woman on the stand was strikingly and classically beautiful, with a tall, lean figure and a pale, heart-shaped face. But she held herself in a way that belied her appearance, seeming somewhat shrunken as she turned around to look at the courtroom. From the corner of his eye, Woohyun could see his client stiffen. The defendant’s lip twitched and curled momentarily upward, but the witness did not appear to notice.

Prosecutor Cho began her direct examination. “Good morning,” she said with her attempt at a beatific smile. “Could you state your name for the record?”

“Kang Hyunseo,” said the witness.

“And how old are you?”

“I’m twenty,” she said.

“And where do you go for college?”

“I go to Changdong Fine Arts College,” said the witness.

“And what do you study?”

“I’m training to be a violinist.”

“Do you go to classes?”

“Of course.”

“And parties as well?” The prosecutor moved slightly closer to the witness stand, trying to steady an upset client. The witness was already chewing her lip, frowning. “Miss Kang?”

“Yes,” said the witness, turning away. “I also went to some parties.”

“Did you go to one on October 14?”

“Yes.”

“And where was this party?”

“It was in Changdong, at the house on 14 Yangmo Road.”

“How many people were present?”

“It fluctuated around midnight, but I think there were twenty to thirty people in the house over the entire night,” said the witness, now looking only at the prosecutor.

“Do you see anyone from that party here today?” said the prosecutor, now putting a hand on the witness stand?

“Yes. The man at the defense table in the blue suit, seated on the right,” she said, but her eyes only briefly flashed to Uhm Changshik. Woohyun, in a gray suit, allowed his eyes to settle on his client’s face. The young man’s face briefly displayed a hard, angry expression, but soon returned to a blank normalcy.

“Your Honor, please let the record reflect that the witness has identified the defendant Uhm Changshik,” said the prosecutor, and the judge agreed. “Now, Miss Kang, did you talk with the defendant?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know the defendant before the party?”

“Yes.”

“How did you first know him?”

“I first met him in my musical theory class. We’re both violinists, and we had studied together to pass the class.”

“Were you friends with the defendant?”

“No. We didn’t know much about each other’s personal life.”

“Would you say acquaintances?”

“That’s correct.”

“What time were you talking?”

“It was about eleven in the evening.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Class. We’re still in that musical theory class together.”

Woohyun continued to let his eyes dart between the defense table and the witness stand. So far the witness hadn’t said anything incriminating about his client, but he could only expect it soon. And he couldn’t gauge whose story to believe yet. The witness seemed nervous, and he had expected that, but he didn’t know if he could believe her just yet.

“And what happened after you talked?”

“He invited me to an upstairs room so that we could have some privacy.”

“And what did you do?”

“I went with him.”

“What were you planning to do?”

The witness looked down, and then looked back up to the prosecutor with an upset expression. “I thought we would hook up, and maybe kiss, and maybe we would have sex.”

“Did you tell the defendant at this time that you intended to have sex with him?”

“No.”

“What happened when you went upstairs?”

“We found an empty bedroom and sat down on it to talk. And then Changshik was soon kissing me, and he had his hand on my thigh.”

“Did you consent to that?”

“Well, yes,” said the witness, now looking ashamed rather than nervous. “We were having some fun, and I know Changshik is cute, and I liked the way he was making me feel.”

“What happened after that?”

“He had his hand under my skirt next, and I thought that was going too fast, too soon. So I pushed his hand away and told him we should slow things down,” said the witness, now staring at her feet. “But then he just had this look on his face, and he snarled, and then he hit me.”

“I’m sorry to hear,” said the prosecutor, now circling the witness stand again. “And what happened next?”

“Objection, Your Honor,” said Woohyun, now choosing to speak up. “The prosecutor’s question calls for a narrative.”

“Denied,” said the judge, taking notes on the testimony and not bothering to look up from his papers. “The witness can answer the question.”

But Woohyun wasn’t paying attention to the judge. He was paying attention to the witness, who was staring at her clenched fists while trying to keep her voice calm and still. But he knew that her resistance could not last much longer as she explained what happened to her. At least if his suspicions were correct.

“Changshik hit me across the face, and pushed me down on the bed. His hands were on my shoulders and his fingers were digging into my skin, and I wanted to do something, but he’s bigger than I am. And then he’s pulling my panties off, and he’s saying something to me, but I can’t hear, and things go quickly, but I feel him inside me, and I want him to get out. But I don’t know what’s happening—I don’t know whether I said anything—and then he pulls out, but he turns me around, and I feel him penetrating me from behind too—but I want him to stop, and then he’s done.”

And it broke Woohyun’s heart to hear her say that, watching as the witness began to cry as she spoke, blinking back tears every other sentence and wiping at her face with her hands, and if he could, he would have held her hand and told her everything was going to be okay. But he had another job, and he was sitting at the wrong table.

“To be clear,” said the prosecutor, “you are describing both anal and vaginal penetration?”

“Objection, leading,” said Woohyun, now speaking again and trying to seize the momentum from the prosecutor.

“Sustained,” said the judge, now peering up for a second. “Please rephrase.”

“Can you describe the sexual activity you mentioned?”

“He was inside me vaginally, and then anally,” said the witness, now dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.

“And what happened next?”

“He pulled out and I just lay on my stomach there, and I don’t know what he did, but he was still on the bed. And then after some time he just walked away.”

“How long did intercourse last?”

“I don’t know,” said the witness, crying again, “I know it must have been minutes, but it feels so much longer when it’s happening to you, you know, and it just felt like such a long time.”

“Did you leave the room?”

“Yes. I went down and I found a friend, and then I left immediately.”

“When did you report the crime to the police?”

“Four days later.”

“Why?” 

“Because I knew what he had done to me. He had crushed me,” said the witness, still crying, and Woohyun could see the prosecutor now reach to seize the opportunity.

“How did this crime make you feel?” The prosecutor said, now with an earnest look, eager to hear the next words.

“Objection, Your Honor,” said Woohyun, now rising to his feet. No matter how much he wanted to let the witness speak and pour out her heart, he still had a role to defend the man next to him. And he was soon suspecting that the judge was evidencing some bias. “This calls for an irrelevant narration.”

“Sustained,” said the judge with a sympathetic look, and Woohyun thought he recognized the meaning. It was already cathartic enough for the witness to describe rape in detail. And the prosecutor seemed satisfied as well.

“Thank you, Miss Kang. The prosecution is done with this witness,” said Prosecutor Cho, and she returned to her seat with a flourish.

“Does the defense wish for cross?” Said the judge, looking at Woohyun. 

“Yes.” Woohyun nodded, and approached the witness stand. “Miss Kang, did you eat or drink anything at the party?”

The woman looked up for a second, then to the prosecutor, and back to Woohyun.

“Yes.”

“What did you eat or drink?”

“I had two bottles of beer, and a shot of vodka, and that was it.”

“Were you drinking anything when talking with my client?”

“I was finishing a bottle of beer at the beginning.”

“Do you often drink?”

“Objection, vagueness,” said the prosecutor from the back, and Woohyun rephrased on his own accord. “At parties like this, do you often consume three or more servings of alcohol?”

“I do.”

“And were you drunk at this time?”

“Objection!” Said the prosecutor, now standing up. “An intoxicated person cannot consent under the law.”

“And an intoxicated person can misremember events,” said Woohyun, now turning around. “The defense isn’t introducing this as evidence of consent, but to cast doubt on the witness’s memory.”

The judge nodded. “Continue. The objection is overruled.”

“I don’t know how drunk I was, but I was more than buzzed and maybe more than tipsy, but I’d remember if I said yes,” said the witness, trying to salvage her testimony.

“How often have you met the defendant before this party?”

“That semester he was in my theory class, so every day.”

“Did you meet him outside of class?”

“Yes.”

“Did you go to his house before?”

“Yes.”

“Speak to him at parties before?”

“Yes.”

“So you’re actually close acquaintances, if not friends?”

The witness pursed her lips with an upset expression. “We didn’t know much about each other’s lives. We weren’t friends at any time.”

“Did you sleep with him before this?”

“Objection!” Said the prosecutor, now looking furious. “Section 4599 of the Evidence Code prohibits the defense from introducing a victim’s past sexual activity in order to establish consent.”

Woohyun turned to the judge. “And section (d) of that statute makes an exception for sexual history shared with a defendant.”

The judge nodded. “He’s right, Prosecutor Cho. The objection is overruled.”

“A few times over the semester,” the witness added, though Woohyun could sense the difficulty in her words.

“A few times being how many?”

“Maybe eight to ten,” said the witness, now looking more ashamed than before.

“You and my client were friends with benefits, then?”

“Objection at the word choice,” said the prosecutor, and Woohyun was already raising his hands.

“I’ll rephrase. You and my client carried on a prior relationship that centered around sex, correct?” The witness nodded, but Woohyun wasn’t done. “Could you speak for the record?”

“Yes,” said the witness, and every admission seemed to chip away at her soul.

“On those times, did you perform vaginal sex?”

“Yes.”

“Anal sex?”

“Yes.”

“In that order, on each occasion?”

“On at least one prior occasion,” admitted the defendant.

“So all of the sexual activity in this case was activity that happened to you before?”

“Yes,” said the witness, and Woohyun wished he could leave it at there, but he had a duty to defend his client vigorously.

“And tell me about Heo Taeshik,” he said, and the witness’s eyes bolted up, and she swallowed.

“He’s the friend I left with.”

“Isn’t he also in your theory class with my client?”

“Yes.”

“Did he comfort you after this party?”

“Yes.”

“As part of that, did you sleep with him too?”

“Objection! The rape-shield statute deals with—” The prosecutor began.

“Sexual activity _before_ the crime, not afterwards,” said Woohyun, and the judge lifted a pleading hand.

“I’m concerned about a lack of foundation here,” he said instead.

Woohyun nodded and asked the witness another question. “How did he comfort you?”

“He said everything would be okay.”

“And how did this make you feel?”

“It made me feel better, and more normal, like I was back to my normal self.”

“And as part of your normal self, you were able to resume sexual activity?”

The witness looked like she was about to cry again, even though she wasn’t recounting anything near as traumatic, and it forced Woohyun to swallow again. It wasn’t the client hurting this woman all over again. It was _him_ , asking these question, but no matter how sorry he felt, he refused to let his emotions control him.

“Yes.”

“And as part of that, you slept with Heo Taeshik?”

“Yes.”

“How soon afterwards?”

“Three days later.”

“Did you have vaginal and anal sex, in that order?”

“Yes.”

“So three days after you said you were raped vaginally and anally by a man from your theory class, you were already able to return to having vaginal and anal sex with another man from your theory class?”

And Woohyun braced himself for the prosecutor’s objection, but none came.

“Yes,” said the witness, sticking her chin out. “But that time I consented.”

And Woohyun turned away. “No further questions.” And then the court was done with that witness.

There were other witnesses during the preliminary hearing, and more direct examination, and further cross-examination, but he had scored his first powerful blows. It all left a bad taste in his mouth. The witness may or may not have been his client’s victim. But if she was telling the truth, she was being victimized again by the proceeding.

****

**\---**

He shouldn’t have been surprised when he returned to the SLG office to see who had been sent to him. As Woohyun made his way to his office, he spotted Howon’s familiar form standing by his door and waiting for him. The other man was well-dressed and kept an upright pose, but Woohyun could sense dismal resignation from him. As he took note of the other man, thoughts began to form.

 _If Sungyeol thinks that Lee Howon is going to persuade me, then I didn’t ever know Sungyeol._ But Woohyun made his customary smile as he greeted the man. “Howon, it’s good to see you again. Please, come in.”

The taller man took a look around them before proceeding inside. As soon as Woohyun closed the door, the two of them were alone. Howon spoke first.

“Sungyeol didn’t send me,” Howon said flatly first, trying to test the waters. “I’m here because of people farther up the food chain.”

Woohyun took his seat, crossed his legs, and stared at Howon down the bridge of his nose. He didn’t expect news to circulate quickly, but he suspected that he knew who had sent Howon, and why. But Howon would need to explain on his own accord. “Then why are you here?”

“I’ll answer that. Woohyun, there were a lot of panicked people in our party this week. It would be one thing if you suddenly found religion and decided to visit a socially-conservative church. It’s another thing to appear by yourself, without your husband by your side. And it gets even uglier because you went to Heemang Presbyterian. That’s the church that Kim Hyemin, now regarded as a corrupt crook, is also attending. What’s going on, Woohyun? It’s like you slapped the party in the face,” said Howon, but Woohyun knew that Howon wasn’t nearly as angry as his words suggested.

“I was doing something for my own agenda,” said Woohyun, sticking his chin up. “I am a man in addition to a husband. I see no reason to call the Supreme Council every time I decide to take a walk.”

And Howon’s unamused expression suggested he was more annoyed with Woohyun’s attitude than angry. “Are you rebelling? You think the National Liberal Party will open you with open arms?”

Woohyun scoffed loudly. “I wouldn’t want to be in the same room as Kim Hyemin, and certainly not in the same party. I pay my dues as a member of the National United Democratic Party, and nothing will change that.”

“So why were you there?” Howon said, slightly relieved, but still moving cautiously. “If it’s connections you want, you just need to let us know. I have a direct line to Representative Yoo, and she can provide you with anything. If it’s information, the Supreme Council will provide you everything they can. You can know anything you want.”

 _But I don’t want to know if Sunggyu did it,_ Woohyun almost said, but he nodded his head as he spoke. “I’m always grateful for Representative Yoo’s generosity. I won’t tell them why I went to Heemang yet. I might, if you really can’t guess.”

It was Howon’s time to glare, and then his expression softened. “That’s the reason I’m officially here. To ask you why you were at church. But now that I’m done with that—”

“You can ask what you really came here to ask,” said Woohyun, knowing exactly that Howon was about to ask something. He was pretty certain of Howon’s exact words, and he was right.

“Are you divorcing Sungyeol?” Howon’s tone grew tense, the man’s shoulders hunching. “He’s been nonfunctional this whole week, and he won’t tell me why. He’s no longer on the brink of crying, but he’s almost broken. And there’s only one man who could make him feel that way.”

“Would that man be me?” Woohyun said, somewhat mockingly. _Or is that man actually a lean, attractive bankruptcy lawyer named Kim Myungsoo?_ And the memory again made Woohyun angry. Howon was the one man who would have known about Sungyeol’s affair with Myungsoo, but the man was keeping everything hidden.

“Don’t play with me,” Howon answered. “If you’re going to leave Sungyeol, do it in one clean blow. Serve him the goddamn papers and announce your split publicly. Don’t do this half-assed thing where you’re telling Sungyeol one thing but not following through. You’re giving him hope, and hope for Sungyeol is becoming a festering wound.”

“You’d want me to leave Sungyeol?” Woohyun gave a scoff. “I thought you were one of the people that loved him.”

“If I am a lowly aide, then Sungyeol is my patron. I will defend my client’s interests with the same dedication that you serve yours,” came the reply, and Woohyun nodded.

“A zealous advocate,” Woohyun said, with grudging respect.

I see the benefits to a divorce too,” Howon continued. “If you leave him, he can find somebody else. Because I also know that if you appear next to him, people are going to remember his affair. Maybe he _deserves_ a fresh and clean start with somebody else.”

“Do you have somebody in mind?” Woohyun said, raising an eyebrow. _If he says Myungsoo, then Howon will get that divorce he’s expecting._

“No. Why would I? And you think he’s going to walk down the aisle with a whore?” And Howon’s bemusement seemed genuine. For a second, it made Woohyun suspect that Howon didn’t know about Myungsoo either. 

“No, I didn’t,” said Woohyun, putting a hand on his chin. “I just can’t imagine why you think anybody would want to be with him, after all he’s done.”

“Then why are you still married, if estranged?” Howon said, getting heated. “Make up your damn mind. If you’re going to make him look bad, do it by divorcing him. Not by showing up at right-wing churches by yourself.”

And Howon got to his feet, turning on his feet, and for a second, Woohyun thought the man would leave. But then Howon stopped, and turned back around.

“I’m leaving now, but do you know if Sunggyu still works here?” Howon said, his expression looking somewhat friendly for once. “I’d like to talk to him, especially I heard about the news.”

“He’s on leave,” Woohyun said flatly. “I don’t know if he’ll return.”

And then Howon nodded, before really leaving. “I hope the best for Sunggyu, you know. We were all friends, once. I won’t visit him if he’s in a jail cell.”

 _I don’t think I would either._ And of course Woohyun admitted that silently.

“Well, in that case, I’ll take my leave. You should make up your mind, and think hard about what you’re doing. You’ll hurt yourself if you’re trying to hurt Sungyeol,” said Howon with a last word. And then he left.

Woohyun shook his head, alone in his office. It was too early to make a final decision, and he knew he’d be lying to himself by pretending to be decisive. It forced him to think back, over ten years ago. How long had it taken him to break up from Sunggyu the first time? Woohyun realized there were things about himself that he didn’t know, but he did know that he wasn’t hasty. 

Shouting, screaming matches, fights—how many months had he and Sunggyu been at each other's’ throats before Woohyun finally broke off the relationship? It was over an affair back then, as well. Yet all of that was so long ago, and Woohyun couldn’t even remember _who_ had been the other person. He only vaguely remembered some girl, and he would have been surprised if Sunggyu even remembered.

Once more, Woohyun shook his head. No, he couldn’t make a decision now. It was still too early. He still needed to know more—about Sungyeol, and Myungsoo, and Sunggyu. And about himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on Twitter [here](https://www.twitter.com/west_of_autumn). I'd like to hear what you think!


	16. Discovery rule

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The update took me a while because I was busy with other things. I hope readers enjoy! 
> 
> I've noticed that there have been fewer comments and kudos on the story. I don't want to write a story that doesn't interest my readers, especially since I have so many other stories I want to write. Kudos and comments won't make me write any faster (I have a very predictable writing output, and other priorities as well). However, they tell me that readers are interested in _this_ story, as opposed to one of my other works-in-progress. If readers want me to write chapters of _husband_ instead of one of my other stories, please let me know.

The office was quiet, Woohyun found, and he was glad. The silence in the workplace was expected. It was nine in the evening and everybody else had gone home, including the firm’s managing partners. It was just Woohyun there that evening, with a stack of Sunggyu’s old cases before him.

And it was one of Sunggyu’s old cases that was vexing him, forcing him to contemplate in silence. _Baekyang Medical Corporation v. Kim Yoonkyung_ was a securities fraud case, pitting a high-powered activist investor against a blue-chip pharmaceutical company. Woohyun was representing the investor, a hard-hitting woman who made it clear to him that she was pursuing the case to trial. 

But it wasn’t the law that vexed him from the moment Lim Jinsol handed the case to him. The relevant law, relating to legal discovery and statutes of limitations, was relatively settled. And it wasn’t the risk of oral argument in court that caught his attention either. 

It was the opposing counsel.

Baekyang had hired the boutique litigation firm Choi and Jeong, an act that indicated he would be facing the hardest of court fights. That morning, SLG’s paralegal had handed him the forms indicating Choi and Jeong’s substitution of counsel. One of the original attorneys had fallen ill, and another lawyer was added as a substitute. A fellow Yeonsoong University alumnus named _Kim Myungsoo._

Woohyun had paused when he first saw the name. There had to have been another Kim Myungsoo out there, right? Kim was the most common surname in the country. Myungsoo was not the most unique name either. But he had double-checked, referencing the bar number and looking up the firm’s lawyers. And sure enough, on the list of senior associates was the soft, handsome face of the man Woohyun once thought was his friend.

And the thought made him sick. 

_Myungsoo! Myungsoo, how could you?_ Woohyun was already saying in his head, knowing that he would be seeing the other man in court. But he couldn’t say those words aloud. He was a lawyer. A professional. He had a responsibility to vigorously represent his client. He couldn’t let the grim rage inside him burst out and stop him from doing his duty.

But on the other hand, how could he stand and talk to Myungsoo again? As if the other man had done nothing to destroy any and all confidence Woohyun once had in him.

He paused to himself. It was a gloomy Tuesday, and Wednesday would prove no better. It was too late to reschedule oral arguments. He _had_ to show up in court tomorrow, standing across the aisle from the man who had betrayed him. _The man Sungyeol chose to fuck_ , Woohyun thought bitterly again. 

But even if he stopped being a husband, he was still a lawyer. Woohyun would be there tomorrow. He would _destroy_ Myungsoo.

****

**\---**

Woohyun brushed past a pair of lawyers as he made his way to the plaintiff’s table. The judge was taking a short recess, and the courtroom was nearly empty. There was a solitary bailiff present, standing at the entrance of the gallery, but too far away to listen.

He saw Myungsoo there first, standing there and looking pretty in his clean suit, with his artfully-slicked hair. And he could read the man like an open book, with Myungsoo rushing over eagerly to meet him as soon as possible.

“Woohyun,” Myungsoo said, eyes wide and expression hopeful. “Do you have a second to talk after oral arguments?”

Woohyun studied Myungsoo closely, scanning the other man’s face. He could see why Sungyeol would still be drawn to this man, after all these years. Myungsoo was over thirty, yet he looked young like he was barely out of college, and Woohyun could still spot traces of an innocent naivete on his face. This man before him was a man who could forgive Sungyeol.

“About what?” Woohyun replied, putting on a disarming but fake smile. Myungsoo saw through it instantly, and recoiled. The man gulped, turning around the courtroom and drawing closer. His voice was audibly tense as he answered, and Woohyun couldn’t tell if it was from guilt or nervousness.

“About Sungyeol,” Myungsoo said, unable to make eye contact. “You haven’t called me, not even about this case, and I understand that. But Sungyeol asked me to call you, and I didn’t dare—”

“Why not?” Woohyun interrupted, fixing angry eyes on Myungsoo. Yet his voice was saccharine sweet. “Was there a reason you couldn’t have contacted me?”

The other man gave a nervous gulp. Myungsoo’s eyes were already watering. “Woohyun, please, there’s so much I need to tell you. So much I should have told you earlier. So much I wanted to tell you earlier. Please give me the chance. Please.”

“I don’t think I want to—,” Woohyun paused. _I don’t want to hear your fucking lies. I don’t want to hear your pathetic justifications for why you fucked Sungyeol and then pretended like nothing happened. I don’t want to hear you claim to be my friend ever again._ So many things he could have said, as he raced to put the thoughts in words. _I don’t want to ever see your face again._

“Excellent! Counsel is talking to each other. Isn’t that rare?” Woohyun’s thoughts were loudly interrupted as the loud voice of Judge Seo Youngmi shot through the room. “Please tell me you’re going to settle right now, so I can clear my docket for this afternoon and go play golf.”

Woohyun managed to react quicker, turning from Myungsoo to give the same insincere smile towards the judge. “Unfortunately, we’re at an impasse and won’t reach an agreement. We’ll have to proceed with oral argument.”

The judge gave a shrug, looking unconcerned. If Woohyun had to be honest, he would have preferred to argue the case before another judge. But the case was assigned to the harsh and suspicious Judge Seo, and that left him no other choice. 

“Excellent,” she answered. “I’m calling court to order. Let’s get started.”

Woohyun made his way back to the plaintiff’s table as Myungsoo went to the defendant’s table.

“Alright, the case before is IW-9956-44, _Baekyang Medical Corporation v. Kim Yoonkyung_ ,” said the judge. “The parties are before us today on the defendant Baekyang’s motion to dismiss for statute of limitations issues. Attorney Kim Myungsoo, you may proceed.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” said Myungsoo. There was no podium in Department 11, so he stood at his seat. “Good morning and may it please the court. Last month, the plaintiff Kim Yoonkyung brought this lawsuit against defendant Baekyang Medical under Title 22, section 99(a), alleging securities fraud. This action must be dismissed because it is untimely under the statute of limitations.”

Woohyun could have sworn he heard Myungsoo’s voice crack just a tiny bit. The other man was barely looking at the judge, his eyes flitting back and forth between his table and Woohyun’s table. Yet nonetheless Myungsoo managed to keep his argument going.

“Title 22, section 99(a)(5) requires that all securities fraud actions be brought within either five years of the alleged fraud, or within two years of discovery of the fraud. Yet here, the plaintiff should have known about all of the facts giving rise to a fraud three years ago. The plaintiff is suing on the grounds that Baekyang defrauded investors by not telling them that the drug Artaxine increased the risk of heart attacks, but the case is a year too late.”

Myungsoo started steady, but his voice was soft. _Guilt?_ Woohyun wondered briefly to himself as Myungsoo continued speaking.

“The plaintiff should have been put on constructive notice three years ago when the Food and Drug Commission issued a warning letter to the public alerting them that Artaxine carried health risks that Baekyang did not disclose. Under the discovery rule, a reasonably diligent plaintiff would have been put on notice that something was wrong, and have henceforth investigated. As a result, the plaintiff would have uncovered all necessary facts three years ago. This suit is untimely.”

“You’re agreeing that the discovery rule applies, correct?” Judge Seo asked, trying to make eye contact with Myungsoo. Her pinched expression indicated discomfort, but Myungsoo was hardly paying attention to anything around him.

“Yes, Your Honor, and the defendant’s pleadings agree that the two-year period begins either when the plaintiff discovers the fraud, or a reasonably diligent plaintiff would have discovered the fraud. First, there was the Commission’s letter three years ago. In the year after that, there were three class-action lawsuits filed against Baekyang regarding legal issues with Artaxine. Either should have sufficed to provide inquiry notice to the plaintiff, yet she did not pursue her claim until years later,” Myungsoo tried to explain. 

“Okay, I get the constructive discovery concept,” said the judge, with a slightly confused expression. “Are you conflating constructive discovery with inquiry notice then?”

“In a sense, yes. The statute of limitations, upholding constructive discovery, should start when the plaintiff is put on inquiry notice, because it’s the only feasible option for the court. To hold otherwise would force a court to decide, on a case-by-case basis, exactly when a reasonably diligent plaintiff would have discovered a fraud,” Myungsoo kept explaining. He swallowed, visibly tense, before speaking one last line. “The victim should have known about the deception three years ago. All the signs were there. A reasonably diligent person would have known.” 

And then Myungsoo took his seat, casting one last despondent look at Woohyun. But Woohyun ignored him as he stood up to argue.

“Your Honor, the plaintiff disagrees,” Woohyun answered. He stood up at his table, choosing to make eye contact with the judge solely, solely because he did not want to look at Myungsoo. “The crucial reason why is scienter. Scienter requires knowledge of wrongdoing, and constitutes an element under section 99. In other words, the plaintiff must bring her action within two years of discovering the intent to deceive or defraud. We agree with the defendant that the Commission’s report and the class-action lawsuits should put a reasonably diligent plaintiff on inquiry notice that something is wrong. But nothing in those documents tells a plaintiff that Baekyang was acting with intent to deceive.”

“Should the court institute a legal limit between how much time can elapse between when a plaintiff should start investigating and when a plaintiff should know there’s enough to sue?” The judge questioned.

“We can’t say anything about that,” said Woohyun. “Some frauds can be detected within days. And others need years of investigation. We can only say that section 99(a)(5) does contain an absolute limit. An action must be brought either within two years of discovery, or within five years of the fraud, whichever is earlier. The court need not concern itself that a plaintiff might drag its feet and bring a section 99 claim decades after a fraud.”

“And under your interpretation, you’d separate inquiry notice and constructive discovery?” The judge asked, scratching at her chin.

“We would. Inquiry notice puts a plaintiff on notice. It might take only two minutes of discovery, or it might take two months, but the inquiry must discover something after it begins. To hold that the statute of limitations begins at inquiry, and not at the following discovery, would be akin to saying the discovery period begins _before_ the plaintiff discovers anything,” said Woohyun. He briefly wondered how closely Myungsoo was listening, but at no point did he look at the other man, instead continuing to look at the judge.

“Additionally, it’s a perfectly reasonable task for courts to put themselves in the position of a reasonably diligent plaintiff. After all, judges were the ones originally responsible for creating the constructive discovery rule that’s now written into statute. Other circuits, notably the Southern Circuit Court of Appeals and the Eastern Circuit Court of Appeals, have ruled in favor of this approach. There’s no reason why the Western Circuit Court of Appeals cannot,” said Woohyun, and he chose to make his conclusion directed at Myungsoo.

“There’s no reason that that the plaintiff should have known three years ago. The facts weren’t there.”

And then he sat down. 

The judge ruled in Woohyun’s favor. He barely could hear her.

And then Myungsoo was approaching Woohyun. “Please,” the other man said, almost crying as the two of them strode out of the courtroom. “You were right, Woohyun, you were right and I was wrong. Let me talk to you. Please.”

Woohyun paused, taking his time to look at Myungsoo. The other man’s eyes were watering and he was unable to make eye contact and his lower lip was quivering.

He nodded, watching the elation that subsequently spread across Myungsoo’s face. “Don’t waste my time,” Woohyun warned, ushering the younger man into an empty conference room.

****

**\---**

“When you speak, you’re going to need to tell me everything,” Woohyun started, his voice deathly quiet. “Don’t just answer my questions. Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear. Tell me everything I need to know, or I swear, Myungsoo, we will never be friends again.”

The younger man was clearly distraught, biting his lip, eyes darting around the rest of the empty room. Myungsoo nodded, his eyes wet. “There’s only one thing I want to ask of you, Woohyun. Please listen.”

Woohyun nodded his head just once. “Then speak.”

“First of all, Woohyun, I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. You’re right, you’ve always been right. It was wrong of me to sleep with your husband, and it was wrong again for me to keep the truth from you. I’m sorry I slept with your husband. I’ll get on my knees and beg if you want me to. If I could go back, I would do everything differently,” pleaded Myungsoo.

“Why!” Woohyun yelled. “Why did you sleep with Sungyeol? Whose idea was it? And what made you think you were my friend, after what you did with me?”

Myungsoo jerked back at Woohyun’s outbursts, before looking up again. “Woohyun, how could I not? When Sungyeol first told me that he was still thinking about me, you don’t understand how happy that made me felt. It’s been over a decade since we broke up—and to hear Sungyeol say that I was still on his mind, that he possessed even just a tiny bit of interest in me—how could I turn him down? He’s beautiful, charming, funny, and everything a man could possibly want.”

And Woohyun chose not to speak, still watching as Myungsoo continued to pour out long-held feelings.

“I’ve thought about Sungyeol for a long time, and Woohyun, I wasn’t thinking about you,” admitted Myungsoo, looking horrified at himself. “It just never crossed my mind. Until the night that I slept with him, I just never stopped myself to think about what I was doing to you. All I cared about was myself. I know it’s selfish, but I want you to know. I did not sleep with Sungyeol to hurt you. I just wanted to help myself.”

“Only once?” Woohyun asked, trying to elicit more information, still suspicious. He could not be moved. He could not allow himself to be moved if Myungsoo cried.

“I only slept with him once, I swear,” said Myungsoo. “We traded text messages for almost a month, expressing our interest in each other. But Sungyeol broke it off after that one time. And I know it hurts to admit it, but if Sungyeol wanted to continue the affair, I would have gone along with it. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, and I don’t dare to ask for it, but please don’t think badly of me, Woohyun.”

Woohyun sneered, the edge of one lip curling. “If you want Sungyeol so much, you can have him,” he snapped, turning around to leave.

“No!” Myungsoo shouted, and Woohyun turned around, incredulous.

“No?” The older man asked, eyes furrowing. Myungsoo looked horrified at the suggestion, instead of being relieved, and the anxiety that Woohyun saw seconds ago was replaced by a different sort of worry. Woohyun turned back, advancing on Myungsoo. “Why not? Because you realize that Sungyeol fucks whores and is a pathological liar acting only out of his self-interest?”

Myungsoo took a breath, and there was determination in his eyes as he spoke. “No, Woohyun, if there’s anything I can ask you, it’s this. Please don’t leave Sungyeol. You’re the one right for him, not me.”

Woohyun could only stare, incredulous, as Myungsoo continued to speak.

“As Sungyeol’s boyfriend, and as his former lover, I know him. I know that he doesn’t just want to be with you; I know that he wants to love you. I also know that you’re the only person for him. Not me, and don’t you know how much it hurts me to say that?”

Myungsoo’s voice was quiet again, strained, but no less determined. 

“Woohyun, you can make Sungyeol happy in ways that I can’t. You’re the one he wants to come home to. You’re the one he wants to crawl into bed next to, the one he wants to grow old with, the one he wants to raise his family with. You can give him things that I can’t. Woohyun, how can I want to make Sungyeol mine, when he has always belonged to you?”

The tears finally fell from Myungsoo’s eyes. And Woohyun felt it, genuine sympathy and pity for this man, and he was amazed at what Myungsoo had revealed.

“You love him.”

Woohyun did not phrase the sentence as a question.

“I know, it’s pathetic, isn’t it?” said Myungsoo, more to himself that Woohyun, as he wiped his eyes and nose on the sleeve of his jacket. “It’s been over ten years.”

The two of them were silent, facing the other, neither knowing how to proceed. Woohyun chose to break the silence, before Myungsoo could run away from their conversation.

“But how can I stay with Sungyeol?” Woohyun asked gently. “He lied to me. He said he never slept with anybody I knew. He fucked whores and held orgies. How can I stay in a marriage with such a man?”

Myungsoo gave a sniffle, but cleared his throat to respond anyways. “I don’t know, but I want you two to stay together. I know Sungyeol did you wrong. I can’t apologize on his behalf, and I know you must have done everything possible to keep your marriage together. I want to say that every marriage has its ups and downs, and that you can move from this one. But if you can’t forgive him on your own accord, then please let Sungyeol make it up to you. He’ll do anything.”

Woohyun paused, thinking. He said something quietly, almost under his breath. 

“Thank you for telling me,” Woohyun said, and then he walked away. Myungsoo remained silent behind him.

****

**\---**

“Don’t say anything, Sungyeol,” cautioned Woohyun, watching the taller man fret. They were in their house again, in the kitchen. Woohyun had half a mind to open a bottle of wine, but decided against it. “It’s not what you think.”

“You’re not—you’re not serving me the divorce papers, are you?” Sungyeol said, still wary, yet not daring to approach or confront Woohyun.

“Not at this point, no,” said Woohyun. “Sungyeol, you said you’d do anything to be with me. I’m going to ask you to do something, and I offer nothing in return. If you refuse me this request, I will fax over the divorce papers tomorrow. But if you do this, I make no promises that I will stay with you, but I will certainly think better of you.”

Sungyeol nodded. “Anything.”

Woohyun paused. “I want you to resign your seat in the National Assembly.”

Sungyeol’s eyes bulged as he stared at Woohyun. “Resign?” The taller man seemed ready to ask why, but he inferred enough, and his eyes turned away. “Are you asking me to step away from politics forever?”

“No, of course not,” Woohyun answered. “Though I would consider it a betrayal if you defected to the opposition. No, you can even choose to stand in the resulting by-election if you choose. I want to know that you value our marriage more than you value that seat you’re currently sitting in.”

Sungyeol nodded. “Absolutely, Woohyun.” He gave a wry smile. “Do you have any job applications from the prosecutor's’ office?”

Woohyun actually laughed when Sungyeol joked. “You’re on misdemeanor probation, Sungyeol! Can you imagine a prosecutor who is required to undergo court-ordered drug-testing? At least wait until your probation period is over.”

The other man gave a slight flush. “And you’re sure it’s okay if I run for office again?”

“It’s not the seat I care about,” Woohyun said. “It’s your attitude towards it.”

Sungyeol nodded again. “I can still work as a lawyer, after all. Out of all of our classmates who worked as prosecutors, half of them have already moved into the private sector. I’m a little late to the game, but not outrageously so.”

Woohyun smirked. “So you’ll be like me? I don’t think SLG is in a position to hire, ever since three of the company’s attorneys were arrested.”

But the mention of SLG reminded Woohyun of another man again. _Sunggyu. Sunggyu still needs my help, wherever he is._ He grimaced, as he turned towards Sungyeol.

“Is that everything?” Sungyeol’s expression was open and eager.

“No, it’s not,” continued Woohyun. “I also want to help Sunggyu, and I want to know if there’s anything you can do about it.”

The only reaction was a puzzled face. “Sunggyu? Why are you trying to rescue Sunggyu?”

Woohyun took a quiet breath. _Because I fucked him_ would have been the right answer, but the older man forced himself still. How could he _ever_ mention his mistake to Sungyeol? But it was still too early to concern himself with that question. “Because he’s my friend. _Our_ friend, even if you weren’t as close to him as I was,” Woohyun answered. “I don’t want to see him hurt, and I don’t know what he’s caught up with.”

Sungyeol scratched the back of his head. “I don’t know if there’s anything I can do. Who’s the prosecutor in the case? And the judge?”

“Yang Sangdo is from the Prosecutor-General’s Office, and the case has been assigned to Judge Byeon Jiwon,” Woohyun answered, having paid attention to every detail of the case that he could.

“I don’t know either of them. I don’t have information that could help. I could write a letter to the court asking for leniency, but you and I know that we can’t sway the justice system,” said Sungyeol, looking confused.

Woohyun nodded. “If you have anything that could help his case,” Woohyun said, his voice drifting off.

“Help his case? How? You know that almost all defendants are guilty,” Sungyeol said, and his voice grew grave. “I don’t want to think that Sunggyu is guilty of bribery, but if he’s accused, then there’s probably some truth to it.”

“You were wrongly accused,” Woohyun pointed out, even while knowing his husband’s words were true. “Prosecutor Park accused you of things that you never did.” _As well as things that you were guilty of._

Sungyeol swallowed to clear his throat. “I was a rare case.”

The two of them were silent again. Woohyun took the time to reach and hold onto Sungyeol’s hand. “It could happen again. I want to think that prosecutors targeted you to get to my family, but I can’t be sure. Sungyeol, I still want the best for you. Don’t get hurt.”

Sungyeol nodded one more time, and then he left.

****

**\---**

Woohyun heard the news on the television, as he always did.

“In other news,” said the television announcer, “Representative Lee Sungyeol of the National United Democratic Party has today announced his resignation from the National Assembly. But equally surprising, former Representative Lee has also announced his intention to run in the resulting by-election.”

The camera screen panned to Sungyeol standing in front of a set of microphones, flanked only by Howon to his side.

“I have already apologized to the people of Changdong and to my family for my personal failures. I have always believed that a government needs the trust and confidence of its citizens in order to be legitimate. For that reason, I am stepping down from my current political seat. If the people of Changdong continue to believe in me, they will return me to political office. I have complete confidence in their decision.

The screen returned to the TV presenter, who continued speaking. “It’s currently unknown how the governing party or the opposition party will react to these events. Stay tuned for more details.”

Woohyun closed his eyes after hearing the news. The first step was done. Sungyeol had done what he had asked. But Woohyun didn't know how to feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on Twitter [here](https:www.twitter.com/west_of_autumn). I welcome your comments, feedback, and suggestions.  
> .


	17. Duty of loyalty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've made tentative plans to end this story at twenty chapters, for a few reasons. The chapters have been getting harder to write, and I would rather end the story sooner than to leave it unfinished. I know that the longer I leave this story alone, the harder it is for me to return to writing. This chapter was rather difficult to write, and I hope the story has not already suffered a decline in quality.
> 
> I was considering posting this on the exact date of Infinite' seventh anniversary, but I figure that other writers are probably thinking the exact same thing. In that case, I'm posting this early. Happy anniversary to Infinite, no matter what might happen!

_Politicians no longer impress me,_ Woohyun thought to himself. _Today is no exception._

He stared around the room. Only three of the party’s Supreme Council were present, far from enough for a formal quorum, but enough to represent the will of the party. Woohyun sat there, with Howon two chairs to his left, as the politicians took their seats at the head of the table.

Woohyun recognized them immediately, getting up to bow. They were seated left to right, in order of ascending seniority. Representative Kwak on the far left, whom Woohyun had never met before, was a balding, middle-aged man. In the center was Representative Yoo, an older woman whom Woohyun knew well as a family friend. On the right was Representative Kim, the woman angling to be the next party chairwoman. And none of the three looked particularly pleased to see Woohyun there.

“Nam Woohyun. Lee Howon. It is good to see you here,” said Representative Yoo, speaking for the three. “We’re here to talk about former Representative Lee Sungyeol.”

“I came here expecting to talk about that,” said Woohyun. “Has the party taken his resignation well?”

Representative Kim cleared her throat and seized control of the conversation. “In a short word, yes. Your husband’s scandal disgraced our party and caused our approval rating to slip in the polls. He didn’t just make a laughingstock of himself. He also hurt those of us who endorsed him, who supported him, and who campaigned for him.”

Woohyun, for just a second, was glad that he had stayed out of the spotlight during Sungyeol’s election. Sungyeol had sent him away, saying he wanted to be elected without relying on the nepotism of his in-laws. _How would I have looked back on that?_ Woohyun thought briefly. _If I had stood next to him saying ‘Vote for my husband’ without knowing that he had already cheated on me?_

“The national party headquarters has made its decision. It’s true that we have only the thinnest majority in the legislature, but our decision is firm,” said Representative Yoo, and Woohyun knew where the conversation was going before the politicians stated it.

“You’re not going to support him in his election,” Woohyun acknowledged.

“More than that,” said Representative Kwak, speaking quickly, “we’re going to do everything possible to make sure he isn’t elected. We’re in talks with the local party chapter, and they’re going to put forth another person as the official party candidate. And if they disobey us and support Lee Sungyeol’s election bid, the party headquarter will step in and put forth somebody else.”

Woohyun held his tongue for only a second. His eyes flashed to Howon next to him. Sungyeol’s manager had his face set in a disappointed expression, mouth drawn tight and jaw clenched. It was the expression that Woohyun had expected to see.

“The opposition party will likely rally its support behind Min Youngwoo, because she once held that seat,” Woohyun said. It was probably the thought that Howon was thinking, but the other man was too junior to speak up in front of the politicians.

“And she will most likely be elected,” acknowledged Representative Kwak. “But we can only stand a fighting chance of regaining that seat if we support somebody new. Somebody who isn’t tainted by controversy.”

“Who are you putting forth?” Howon said, trying to stay cool.

“Party Spokesman Sohn Kwangjae,” said Representative Kwak. “He’s not from Changdong, but he’s from nearby Haseong. He has some national prominence, and he is a good public speaker. Even if he loses, he will remain Party Spokesman and may get another candidacy in the next round of elections.”

Woohyun kept quiet, only letting his eyes temporarily dart back to Howon. The other man should have been saying something, begging the party elders to support Sungyeol. But the man seemed to realize it was hopeless. Again, it was Woohyun’s turn to speak up.

“Supreme Councilors,” said Woohyun, remarkably calm. “This is important news. Howon and I are honored that you informed us in person. But I believe this goes far beyond customary courtesy. I believe you have something additional that you wanted to ask of us.”

“You’re right, as expected from a family of overachievers,” said Representative Kim. On its face, the statement was a joke, but Woohyun could sense the bitterness underneath. “We came here because we wanted to clarify a few things.”

“We’d love to hear,” said Howon, now speaking.

“Lee Howon and Nam Woohyun,” said Representative Yoo, even though she was only focused on Woohyun. “We know that Lee Sungyeol is running for his old seat. He’s done a few things that might earn him votes. He actually has a good history in delivering services for his constituents and has maintained a certain ideological purity in his votes. And he might retain some residual support from people who regard the Lee Soonho era with certain fondness.”

“He’ll split the vote if he ran as an independent,” interjected Representative Kwak hastily, to try to get the message across. “We can block his party nomination, but we can’t block an independent candidacy.”

“You want us to ask him to drop out,” Woohyun said flatly. “You want to win so badly you’ll throw him under the bus.”

“He’s not a popular man, and Min Youngwoo is one of our top enemies,” said Representative Yoo in protest, in acknowledgement of Woohyun’s criticism. “Listen, Woohyun. All political relationships are built on give-and-take, right? Sungyeol right now is taking more from us than he can give. We want his seat. We’ve hated Min Youngwoo for years. And we can’t let her return to a position of prominence.”

“And that brings us to an important question,” said Representative Kim. “Where does the President stand in all of this?”

Woohyun had to pause to answer. He had not asked his mother, or any of his relatives, about where to proceed with Sungyeol. He had been so busy—keeping up with work, with Sungyeol, and with Sunggyu—that he had yet to sit down with friends and family to ask them where he should go. _Myungsoo no longer counts._ Woohyun could not help himself from remembering Myungsoo, even if the man was nowhere present.

“I don’t know,” Woohyun answered, his voice as devoid of emotion as possible. “I haven’t asked her, or my father either.”

“Your mother is a capable politician,” said Representative Yoo. “She cannot spend political capital defending Sungyeol, even if he is her son-in-law. If she chooses to support Sungyeol in this race, _I_ will protest.”

Woohyun nodded in acknowledgment. “I do not think she will do anything.”

“Good. Good,” said Representative Kwak, with an audible breath of relief. “And you? Will you support Sungyeol. Even the sight of you next to him—that will draw voters. That will split votes.”

It would have been right for Woohyun to give a noncommittal smile and say “That’s none of your business.” But things were so different now. Sungyeol was still acting a politician. Woohyun was still being a politician’s husband. These questions could not be avoided.

“You won’t see me next to him on a stage,” Woohyun answered instead in a noncommittal fashion.

“But will you endorse him? Call voters for him? If he promotes his marriage, will you affirm your support for him?” Representative Kim pressed, eager to know and trying to elicit more information.

Woohyun pursed his lips. “Isn’t a marriage an endorsement in itself?”

“Please be serious,” said Representative Yoo with a hint of pleading. “Our campaign strategy will hinge upon your answer.”

“It’s too early for me to be giving an answer,” Woohyun said, grimacing slightly.

“We want an answer right now,” interjected Representative Kim, her eyes filled with annoyance. “You and your whole family, Woohyun, have always been loyal party soldiers. I can recite a list of all the good deeds that your mother and father have done for the party, when they put their personal interests aside in support of a greater cause. You should do that right now, so that we can defeat Min Youngwoo. I will ask you again. Will you support your husband in this election?”

Woohyun only let his eyes flit towards Howon for second, taking a deep breath before answering.

“No.”

Howon jerked away for just a second, before regaining his concentration. Howon’s eyes asked only one question. _Divorce?_ But Woohyun did not answer that question.

“You’re not supporting Sungyeol?” Representative Yoo asked, sounding incredulous before she regained composure. “Woohyun, then you can ask him not to run.”

“I won’t do that either,” said Woohyun, and he could sense befuddled expressions around him.

“Think of the party, please,” said Representative Kwak hastily, before Representative Yoo spoke up again.

“Woohyun, what are you playing at?” Representative Yoo barked, causing Woohyun to turn towards her.

“Excuse me?” He asked, eyes narrowing in disbelief.

“You visited Heemang Presbyterian without Sungyeol by your side. We haven’t seen you in public with Sungyeol in months. We don’t even know if you’re living with him. Now you’re not supporting him in his political ambitions, yet you won’t take on the responsibility of working for the party’s interests,” said Representative Yoo, blurting out in frustration. “What are you doing, Woohyun? What are you thinking? You’re not just one person. Your relationship with Sungyeol is not just a personal affair. It affects many other people.”

“Supreme Councilors,” said Woohyun, closing his eyes. His voice could not crack now. He could only remain calm. “It’s a complicated issue.”

“Yes, I know,” said Representative Kwak, far more hasty than his two peers.

“No, nobody can understand,” said Woohyun, his eyes still closed. “My relationship with Sungyeol is the most important relationship I formed during my adult life. He’s the closest person in my life, and yet there are days I completely despise him. There are days when I seeth, knowing how he betrayed me, yet I cannot erase all of the good that he has done to me. I will make my decision, but it will not be today. Party loyalty can only go so far. No election is important enough to make me rush my decision.”

Representative Kim’s anger was now apparent on her face. “And what would force you to make a decision?” She said, throwing her hands up.

 _A friend. Perhaps._ Woohyun thought to himself. But he said nothing as he left, alone.  
****

\---

And it was a friend who helped him make a decision, but not the friend who Woohyun had expected to hear from.

The wedding invitations arrived in the mail the next day, and Woohyun opened them with surprise and trepidation. He had once mailed out invites in the same ivory-white color, ten years ago. He rapidly read, scanning to learn.

 _You are super-happily invited to celebrate the wedding of Jang Dongwoo and Park Heejung!_ (^_^)/~

It didn’t look much like an invitation. The paper may have been elegantly decorated, but the message was personalized to him. The handwriting was Dongwoo’s familiar scrawl, still recognizable even after all these years. Woohyun smiled. It had been years since he had heard from Dongwoo.

 _Woohyun, I haven’t talked to you in years, but I want you to attend my wedding this month. It’s on Sunday, the 28th, and I know that gives you almost no time._ (-_-;) _But Heejung (my lovely soon-to-be wife) and I planned our wedding over a spur of the moment and everything just fell into place. So you should come!_ (/◕ヮ◕)/ _And feel free to talk to me at any time if you need anything, even if all you want is a person to chat with._

Yet there was still a name missing, as Woohyun continued to scan the invite.

 _And don’t worry. I’ve invited Sungyeol separately. I can sit you guys together at the wedding if you want—or separately. Let me know! I want to see you there._ (＾▽＾)

That was the end of the message, but it would be the start of something else, Woohyun suspected. He picked up the phone right there, racing to talk to Dongwoo again.

Dongwoo! Dongwoo had once been one of his closest friends at university, at least during his first two years. The two of them had once spent hours dancing into the night together. But Dongwoo eventually found a job with with a chaebol which sent him overseas. They had lost contact soon after Dongwoo moved away. But now Dongwoo was getting married, and inviting him!

And Woohyun knew he had to talk to Dongwoo, now that the opportunity presented himself. He _had_ to.

\---

Dongwoo wasn’t exactly the same as Woohyun had remembered him, but he was easily recognizable.

“You look different from the last time I had a chance to take a good luck at you. It’s been eight years,” Woohyun said, sipping at his cup of coffee. He had invited the other man to his house, sitting in the airy sunroom with a view of the surroundings.

“Really?” Dongwoo gave a laugh, covering his prominent teeth with a hand.

“Really,” said Woohyun with a friendly smile. “Your hair is in its natural color. When we were in school, you dyed your hair every week, or something like that. Pink, green, brown, red—am I missing anything?” The rest of Dongwoo seemed almost the same. The man was still lean, even if he had now accumulated some weight around his waist.

“You forgot my blue phase, or maybe that was in my first year before you started attending university,” Dongwoo corrected him. “I was about to walk the graduation stage with a head full of pink hair, but my parents forbade it. So I dyed it back to black.”

“I know I haven’t talked to you since two years after graduation. I should have kept in contact,” Woohyun admitted sheepishly. “I saw you at the courthouse last year but I didn’t say anything.”

Dongwoo gave a wave of his hand. “I’m going to get mad if you apologize. We were friends. And now that I’ve gotten a chance to talk to you, I can say we’re friends again. Got it?”

Woohyun nodded. “Things are so different now. I can’t believe you’re marrying Heejung. You’re only the second friend I know from law school who’s gotten married. And Sungyeol is the first. Have you been dating her the whole time?”

Dongwoo gave a toothy smile. “It’s just as unexpected to me. I dated her for three years after I graduated, but then I found a job that took me overseas to America for an extended posting. We couldn’t make the relationship work, even if we wanted to do our best. We broke up, amicably.”

Woohyun listened with rapt attention. “And what happened after that?”

“I spent two years in America, and then four years in Canada. And then I came back here. I’ve spent the past two years in Geumryong. If I didn’t live on the opposite side of the country, I would have tried to visit you too. But you were in Changdong, and you seemed happy in your marriage,” Dongwoo said. “I left you alone.”

Dongwoo’s mention of Woohyun’s marriage made the younger man frown, for just a second. Dongwoo noticed, but kept speaking. “I didn’t reconnect with Heejung until a year after I got back here. I reconnected with her, we started dating, and before I knew it, I was head-over-heels in love with her all over again. Deeper than the three years I had previously dated her.”

Woohyun nodded, still paying attention even as he thought about himself. “What made you decide to ask the question?”

The older man gave a wide smile, as if he were particularly impressed. “You’re going to promise not to tell anyone.”

Woohyun gave a puzzled stare as Dongwoo continued, in a low whisper.

“We decided to get married soon because we want to start trying for a baby,” Dongwoo said, before putting a finger to his lips. Woohyun gave a nod, the corners of his mouth turning up in a smile.

“Nobody’s going to wring that out of me,” Woohyun said. “I promise, it’s confidential.”

“But it’s more than that,” said Dongwoo sagely. “I decided that I was always going to marry her. It was always a question of timing. Recent events just pushed me into that direction. You see, Woohyun, I’m going to quit my job as a lawyer.”

Woohyun’s expression was one of surprise. “Did I hear you wrong? Jang Dongwoo, the student who fought to get a job with a chaebol, is going to quit being a lawyer?”

Dongwoo nodded with a wide smile on his face. “I’ve been talking about it with Heejung soon after I got back. I want to open up my own business. It’s going to be a combination of a bakery, cafe, and ice cream parlor. The bank loan has already been secured, and we have all the floor plans ready, and we’ve even got our cupcake designs. I can show you all of this, if you want.”

“But why?” Woohyun said, still unsure. “Are you tired of being a lawyer?”

“Not exactly,” Dongwoo said, shaking his head. “I’m not tired of being a lawyer, but I can’t work for Segye Geonsol anymore, or any other chaebol. I tried it for ten years, Woohyun, and it drained me. Working for those chaebol involved too many long hours and it was difficult to hold down a relationship. And not just that. There’s also some shady business with Segye.”

“Nothing you can tell me?” Woohyun said, ears perking up.

“Nothing I can disclose,” said Dongwoo with a laugh and a shake of his head. “The company really made me reconsider my values. As lawyers, Woohyun, we’re not regular employees. We have certain fiduciary duties—the duty of care, the duty of loyalty—that were impossible to ethically fulfill if we did what the company wanted. I talked with Heejung, and then my parents, and the rest of my family, and even though I didn’t tell them any details, we all came to the same conclusion: I couldn’t keep working for Segye Geonsol anymore.”

“You could keep working as a lawyer elsewhere,” Woohyun said, frowning.

“I could,” Dongwoo acknowledged, “and while I like being a lawyer, I also want to explore other possibilities. I thought it would just be a cute idea, opening a little cafe with my wife, but now I want to really explore the idea.”

Woohyun nodded. “If you’re as good with business as you are with law, you’ll certainly succeed.” His eyes flitted downwards, taking a moment to compare Dongwoo’s relationship with his own. _I know I was that hopeful, once, but it feels like a dream._ “I really hope you’re happy with her, you know.”

And it was Dongwoo’s turn to give a frown. “You’re not happy with Sungyeol? I pay attention to the papers too, Woohyun. I won’t pretend I don’t know about the prostitutes.”

Woohyun gave a sigh. There was so much to say, and even if he trusted Dongwoo, it had still been eight years since they had last talked.

“It’s really complicated, Dongwoo. I love Sungyeol, or at least I think I love Sungyeol, and he was so good to me before, but things are different now,” said Woohyun. There was a wellspring of emotion inside him, but only so much could be released at once. “Dongwoo, I can tell you every good and bad thing Sungyeol has done to me, but there’s so much.”

Dongwoo furrowed his brow. “But I didn’t ask that?”

“What?” Woohyun’s ears perked up, questioning.

“I didn’t ask if you loved him, Woohyun. I asked if you’re happy with him.” Dongwoo’s expression suddenly turned serious, eyes fixing themselves on Woohyun’s.

“He makes me happy,” Woohyun said, suddenly feeling slightly defensive at Dongwoo’s characteristic bluntness.

“That’s still not what I asked,” Dongwoo said, now turning back to his own coffee. “I asked you if you’re happy with him. You can still be unhappy with him, even if he makes you happy once or twice.”

Woohyun stammered again. “That’s not what I’m trying to say.”

But Dongwoo continued on, directly and almost belligerently, as he continued to speak.

“Do you wake up every day wishing Sungyeol were in your bed? When you see him, do you think he’s your better half, or do you dread each morning, knowing what’s done to you? Does he improve you and do you improve him? Or is all of that in the past?”

Woohyun almost wanted to look away, as Dongwoo pressed on earnestly, and memories flooded back to him of all the times that he had gone to Dongwoo for relationship advice. _Even when I was with Sunggyu._

Dongwoo’s next question was too direct for him to evade. “Woohyun, are you happy with Sungyeol?”

Woohyun’s eyes were downcast as he nibbled at a lip. He was suddenly feeling like a young man again, lost in his thoughts.

“I don’t want to answer that question,” Woohyun finally managed to whisper, and it was all he could say. _There’s so much I could say. So much I could tell him._

Dongwoo, always a man for physical contact, reached out a hand to stroke Woohyun’s cheek.

 _It’s warm,_ Woohyun thought, almost laughing at himself for the thought. _Why is his hand so warm?_

It wasn’t until Dongwoo gently wiped a tear off his cheek that Woohyun even realized he was crying.

“Woohyun-ah,” said Dongwoo, scooting forward to put his hand on Woohyun’s knee. “I don’t know everything that’s gone on between you and Sungyeol, though I’ll sit here and listen to everything you want to say, but I’ll tell you the exact thing I told you about Sunggyu. I know you must have loved Sungyeol. I was at your wedding. I know he must have made you feel happy, that you were better off with him, and that you learned to put him first over yourself. But that was the case with Sunggyu too. I know Sunggyu made you happy, until he didn’t, and then it was pain.”

“Sungyeol’s the person who’s made the happiest I’ve ever felt,” responded Woohyun, wiping tears off his face. “He comforted me. He treated me like I was a human being. He wasn’t scared away by my intelligence. He didn’t care who my parents were. He’s the first man I met who wanted to walk down the aisle with me. How can I hate him?” Woohyun’s plea was directed at Dongwoo as much as it was to himself.

Dongwoo only shook his head. “You don’t need to hate him. In fact, you might love him. But sometimes people who love each other can’t be together.”

Woohyun’s throat was already hoarse as he tried to answer. “I’m the best person for Sungyeol. He needs me. Nobody else will love him like I do.”

Dongwoo nodded. “I believe that. And who’s the best person for you?”

“I don’t know, Dongwoo. I don’t know,” said Woohyun with a gasp, and the words spilled forth from him before he could stop it.

He told Dongwoo everything. From the arrest to the first meeting with the Supreme Council, then the revelation in open court about the orgies, and then SLG, and then working with Sunggyu, and all the cases, and then the plea negotiations, and then the revelation about Myungsoo. He told Dongwoo about sleeping with Sunggyu, and then Sunggyu’s arrest, and the entire corruption scandal. And he finally mentioned confronting Sungyeol, and then confronting Myungsoo, and by the time he was done his voice was hoarse.

Dongwoo only nodded. And listened. But it still wasn’t what Dongwoo wanted to hear.

“I don’t know what I should do,” said Woohyun, even as he sensed his own emotions. Dongwoo realized it too.

“None of that matters,” Dongwoo said gently. “Forget about Sunggyu or Myungsoo, or any of the corruption scandals, and all of the politics. Just think about Sungyeol, and what he means to you. You can’t look at your marriage through the perspective of a third-person. It’s _your_ marriage. No, Woohyun, tell me what you want,” Dongwoo said, eyes boring into Woohyun again, and the man finally could answer.

“I can’t see myself being with Sungyeol any longer. But how can I leave him?” Woohyun asked, clenching his eyes shut and looking away. “He’s my husband. I swore an oath. I said I would be loyal and that I would love him, but I’ve slept with another man. I _think_ I can return to Sungyeol—I know I can forgive him if I tried hard enough—but I don’t want to. And I don’t know where to go.”

“I think you do know what you want to do,” Dongwoo said, his voice as soft as it was ten years ago.

Woohyun couldn’t even breathe as he forced himself to say the truth, as harsh as he possibly could.

“I love him, but Sungyeol is no longer the man I married. I will leave him.”

It was both truth and horror. He thought he would never say those words in his life. Yet they were everything he could ever want to say.

“I don’t know what I’ll do from here,” Woohyun said. He didn’t regret his words, but he realized the magnitude of what he was saying.

“You’ll find a way.” Dongwoo added, eyes shining like he was proud for Woohyun. He reached to give Woohyun’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “You’re the smartest person I know.”

“I _really_ don’t know how it’s going to work,” said Woohyun, and he gave a short laugh with a purity that he didn’t recognize.

“You’ll know where to go,” came the response. “And I trust you’ll come to my wedding?”

Woohyun laughed again, and he knew a burden had lifted. “After all that I owe you, how could I not?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/west_of_autumn)! 
> 
> Thank you all for the feedback since chapter 16. As I said in the last chapter:
> 
> _I don't want to write a story that doesn't interest my readers, especially since I have so many other stories I want to write. Kudos and comments won't make me write any faster (I have a very predictable writing output, and other priorities as well). However, they tell me that readers are interested in this story, as opposed to one of my other works-in-progress. If readers want me to write chapters of_ husband _instead of one of my other stories, please let me know._


	18. Right to confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while since I've updated. I can't believe I started this story over a year ago, and I still haven't finished it yet! Most of the wait was due to circumstances beyond my control, though I admit I also got lazy at certain times. I had to simplify part of the story for the sake of brevity and convenience. I hope you all enjoy the chapter!

He wished he could say it was comforting, returning to the house he grew up in, but thinking about the past only brought up hurtful memories. He had once walked up the steps of this mansion, holding hands with Sungyeol, to tell his parents that he was getting married. Now, he was taking that same walk alone, to tell his family that he was getting a divorce.

“Mother. Father. I’m here,” Woohyun said quietly as he entered the living room. The servants had been dismissed, and the aides sent out. It was only the three of them. Even Woohyun’s brother was not present.

“We understood you had something to tell us,” Woohyun’s father said, looking wary from his seat by the window. Nam Sangho was not a man who worried often, but the caution in his voice suggested underlying concern.

“It’s something I thought about, for a long time, but it was a decision I had to make,” Woohyun said, straightening his back as he took a seat at a table. It was not a decision made easily. His parents could very well oppose this choice.

“You’re getting a divorce,” responded Woohyun’s mother, sounding calm. Lee Soonho was believed to have ice water in her veins instead of blood, remaining utterly unflappable as always. “Woohyun, we’re your parents. We know you well enough. You would not have made such a solemn request for any other reason unless you were planning to leave Sungyeol. Though honestly, we would not need to know you to have seen the warning signs. Any reasonable person could have predicted this.”

Woohyun nodded. There was no yelling or anger from either his father or his mother. But there was no happiness as his parents spoke.

“I’m going to divorce Sungyeol. I already have an attorney. The only question is when I make the announcement,” Woohyun said. He paused for just a second. Even now, he was being worried about Sungyeol, as absurd as it sounded. Concern entered his voice, as more words tumbled out of his mouth. “He has an election in a month. If I divorce him after he loses—and he will lose unless a miracle happens—then it will look like I left him because of that failure. But if I announce it before the election, I will humiliate him at a critical time.”

Nam Sangho gave a thoughtful look, before pointing out an omission. “You left out something you should tell us.”

“What?” Woohyun gave a puzzled look.

“Your reason,” pointed out Lee Soonho. “ _Why_ are you leaving Sungyeol? What’s different now as compared to, what, ten months ago, when the scandal broke out?”

Woohyun remained silent. He could have said everything, about Myungsoo and Sunggyu and the prosecutors and the whores, but these were all facts that would need to be released over time, not immediately.

“Sungyeol betrayed my trust,” Woohyun said, without committing to all of the details. “There was so much that he did not tell me. He did not cheat on me with just the whores.” _They don’t need to hear about Myungsoo. They know Myungsoo as well. I’ll spare him, for now at least._

“That’s enough of a reason. Divorce him,” Lee Soonho said with a thoughtful nod. “Woohyun, you’re a full-grown adult, and more than that, you’re a thoughtful man who only makes his decisions after an overabundance of thinking. If you’ve come to this decision, we will not second-guess you to make sure it is the right one.”

“But that doesn’t mean we’ll ignore what happens afterwards,” said Nam Sangho. “For example, your mother and I do not think you are the type of person who will live alone for the rest of his life. Is there somebody else you already have in mind?”

 _Kim Sunggyu._ Sunggyu’s name was the first one that came to mind as a possible choice, and how could it not? When everybody else—Sungyeol, Myungsoo, Howon—was against him, it had been Sunggyu who helped him in his time of need. Sunggyu had listened to him and comforted him, providing him a shoulder to cry on. Woohyun’s own words filled his mind, the memories flashing back.

_”I like you.”_

_“Are you sure?”_

“Woohyun? Woohyun?” Nam Sangho was speaking, jolting Woohyun out of his thoughts. “Do you already have somebody in mind?”

 _Kim Sunggyu might also spend the next ten years of his life in jail._ Woohyun could not deny that fact or avoid thinking about it. His ex-boyfriend was caught up in some corrupt scheme, the depths of which Woohyun did not know.

Woohyun shook his head. “No, I don’t. I married young,” he admitted, speaking half to himself and half to his parents. “I still have time to find somebody else and have a lifelong relationship.”

Lee Soonho nodded. “Then get as much time for yourself. File the divorce papers tomorrow, if you can.”

He would have been ignorant if he had expected restraint or caution. Lee Soonho and Nam Sangho were the calmest people that he knew, but Woohyun’s parents were also direct and decisive. Of course they would have cautioned him to strike quickly.

“Yes, your announcement will hobble Sungyeol’s chances, but let us be realistic. The opposition party will win the by-election, having held the Changdong City constituency for over two decades. Yoo Jungmi keeps calling me every day to ask me to endorse our party’s candidate, and I keep telling her I won’t waste an endorsement,” Lee Soonho said.

Woohyun agreed with the statement, and was also unsurprised at Representative Yoo’s desperation.

“It’s better that you make the announcement now, rather than inject needless controversy into the campaign’s final days,” agreed Nam Sangho. “Divorce Sungyeol now, and you might even get him to drop out.”

“You’re supportive of me?” Woohyun asked. “It had been such a scandal when I married Sungyeol ten years ago. So many people had been critical of our marriage, demanding that you cut off your ties with me.”

“Of course we’re supportive,” said Lee Soonho. “We want you to be happy. Ten years ago, it made you happy to be with Sungyeol. And now you will be happier without him. We won’t sit and talk about whether any of this was foreseeable ten years ago. Too much time has elapsed for us to pass judgment.”

“Let’s just focus on the present, Woohyun. When you announce your divorce, you will of course provoke another scandal. The tabloids and the papers will be all over you, for weeks or months, but so what? You need to move forward in life, and this is the way to do it,” said Nam Sangho.

“I still need to tell Sungyeol,” said Woohyun, getting in his final words.

“And you will. And if you find yourself re-evaluating your relationship with Sungyeol, just know that we will be here to listen,” said Lee Soonho.

Woohyun took a bow, stiff and formal, before his parents dismissed him with a wave. Sungyeol would need to wait. There was still one more person he wanted to talk to first.

 

**\---**

 

This time, Woohyun was absolutely sure Sunggyu would be there to answer the door.

As expected, Sunggyu opened the door immediately after Woohyun knocked. Woohyun had worried that the other man would have appeared disheveled or unprepared, but Sunggyu still looked alert and ready. _Not bad for a man who might spend the next ten years of his life behind bars._ Woohyun’s thought was more disappointed than bitter. He shouldn’t have been disappointed, given how Sunggyu had failed him so many times when they were dating. But even after ten years apart, Sunggyu could still be so gentle with him. Was this the same Sunggyu he had known at Yeonsoong University? Or was it some other man?

There was a long pause as the two of them looked at each other, and Woohyun expected it. _The last time I was here, I fucked him and then saw him leave in handcuffs._ Woohyun recognized the expressions currently on Sunggyu’s face: shame and regret, and even a hint of embarrassment. Yet Woohyun could also tell that Sunggyu wanted to see him.

“Come in,” said Sunggyu, ending the pause, and Woohyun gingerly stepped inside.

The apartment was still clean, though Woohyun spotted various legal documents scattered on some of the tables. The older man was on leave from SLG, barred from handling any cases. The papers must have related to the upcoming trial. Sunggyu brushed the papers off of his coffee table and the two of them sat down on the couches.

“How are you doing?” Woohyun asked first. His voice betrayed him, and the question came out with fondness that Woohyun didn’t want to admit. But Sunggyu didn’t seem to notice, looking away from Woohyun. After another pause, Sunggyu finally made eye contact.

“Not well,” said Sunggyu, shaking his head. “I keep asking Attorney Bang if there’s anything I can do, and he tells me not to discuss the case with anybody, but there’s not much point in hiding it.”

Woohyun grimaced. He knew the implications of what the other man was saying. “If there’s anything you want to tell me,” he said, letting his voice drift off. It was _his_ turn to be Sunggyu’s support. Not because Woohyun had to reciprocate for what Sunggyu had done for him. Just because he and Sunggyu were still friends.

“Woohyun.” Sunggyu said, turning again, and when Woohyun looked him in the eyes, there was a hint of fear. “It’s really not good.”

It was as close to a cry for help that he would get out of the other man.

“Sunggyu,” responded Woohyun. “I always tell my clients that they need to listen to their lawyers, but right now, if you want me to help, you need to tell me everything. Not as a lawyer, but as your friend. Sunggyu, what’s going on?”

Sunggyu slumped back in his chair in despair, staring up at the ceiling. But when he answered, the fear was gone and the old Sunggyu returned. “What can I tell?” He said, disbelief in his voice. “What do I have to tell you, the country’s golden boy, about crime? You’ve never gotten your hands dirty in your life?”

“I’m not going to judge you,” Woohyun retorted. “I just want to hear.”

“There’s so much to say, and you wouldn’t understand half of it.” Sunggyu sounded cautious again, like he was alternating between his old self, the proud ex-boyfriend who had competed to be top of his class, and his new self, the disgraced lawyer facing years of jail. “And what could you do anyways?”

“I could listen,” Woohyun said. “If you want to confess.”

“There’s no privilege between friends. If the prosecutors caught on, they could issue a subpoena and force you to tell everything about this conversation,” Sunggyu retorted.

“Yes, and I hope it never comes to that. But Sunggyu, I wanted to talk about us since the last time I was here. You’re going to need to tell me more if I’m going to understand where our relationship is and where it’s going to go.“

That night was recent, but so many things had elapsed since then. _Had it even been a month?_

Sunggyu swallowed, only looking back every few seconds. “Where it’s going to go?”

Woohyun didn’t hesitate. Here he was, asking Sunggyu to spill everything, while he was still holding onto secrets of his own.

“Yes, Sunggyu. I’m divorcing Sungyeol. And I’m not looking just for a rebound. If you want to be there when I leave my husband, you’ll need to tell me everything about what _you_ have done. Start from the beginning. Sunggyu, just what did you do? And why?” Woohyun pleaded, his voice on the edge of begging. If he opened himself up, maybe Sunggyu could respond.

And Sunggyu did. As the older man stared down at his hands, he spoke in a tone that could only be considered a whimper.

“I don’t want to go to jail,” Sunggyu finally said, and it was like something broke.

 _This isn’t right._ Woohyun knew Sunggyu. The Sunggyu he knew was strong and confident to a fault, never showing weakness, and never letting anybody think he was fallible. But the Sunggyu he knew was morally upright and would never have committed bribery.

Sunggyu turned towards Woohyun, looking panicked. “Woohyun, you need to understand. I did some things I regret, but that’s not who I am.”

“You’ll need to start from the beginning,” Woohyun said with a shake of his head. “When I said everything, I meant everything.”

That forced Sunggyu to pause, taking a deep breath before he said anything.

“It started in law school,” Sunggyu said, looking at Woohyun. “And it started with you.”

“Me?” Woohyun said, cutting off Sunggyu. _How is this my fault?_

“Woohyun, I don’t think I changed when I broke up with you, but I changed when you dated Sungyeol,” said the other man.

“I don’t understand,” said Woohyun, furrowing his brow.

“And neither did I,” said Sunggyu, now seething and releasing emotions pent up after years. “Woohyun, you and I come from the same background. Sure, I’m not the son of the President, but I’m like you in so many ways. We both came from the upper-class, we both attended private boarding schools, and we were both expected to do well in society. But you dated Sungyeol, Lee Sungyeol, who was the opposite of us in every way! He spent his childhood on the move so his parents could avoid debt collectors. His public school’s graduating class was so poor that he and the rest of the students needed free meals. We paid tuition to go to Yeonsoong; he was on a _scholarship_. And then, if that wasn’t enough, you married him!”

Woohyun could only stare, as Sunggyu continued to release long-held feelings.

“After graduating, I worked at the Handeok law firm. Lim Jinsol introduced me to Heemang Presbyterian Church. I thought it was only right that I went there, because I’m a Christian. I had never voted before attending church, but even if I did, I would have voted conservative anyways,” Sunggyu said, now calming down again.

“But once I was there, I made a mistake,” he continued. “One Sunday, I was volunteering with the church committee that was preparing a free luncheon for the poor. Representative Kim Hyemin was a member, and over the weeks, she gained my confidence, taking the time to talk to me after church services. I was amazed she even spoke to me. She was, and is, a powerful politician. The press once dubbed her one of the ‘Four Horsewomen of the Apocalypse’!’”

The other political heavyweights in that group had been Yoon Hyunmi, Lee Eundo, and Min Youngwoo. All four of them were leaders in the opposition to President Lee Soonho.

Sunggyu continued to explain. “She seemed to know me even though I never met her. She suspected that you and I had dated when we were at Yeonsoong. Kim Hyemin also pointed out to me that you were married to Sungyeol, even though he was far below your social station. She made me an offer to better myself, and you don’t need to guess to know that I accepted it.”

Woohyun held his tongue, though there was much he wanted to say. Sunggyu should have known their relationship was over, but the other man had held onto hope.

“She told me that I could never be worthy of a man like you unless I took drastic measures. She said that a low-level attorney for a civil litigation firm would never rise up in society without connections to politics,” said Sunggyu. “But she could offer me what that I wanted, in exchange for doing her bidding. Money, power, influence, anything I could name.”

 _Why couldn’t I have seen this?_ was all Woohyun could ask himself, even as Sunggyu kept talking.

“I’m not blaming you, Woohyun. None of what I did was your fault. It was my mistake. I was still young, and still stupid. I can’t even say that back then I was still in love with you. No, I was still in love with the idea of having you. I should have respected your decision to marry Sungyeol, but I didn’t.”

Almost ten years had passed, but Woohyun realized that these feelings were still fresh in Sunggyu’s heart. _Longing. Or obsession._

“But I hope you understand why I did it. I wanted to be something more, Woohyun, someone that could impress you. I didn’t just want to be Kim Sunggyu, the university student you once dated. I wanted to be Kim Sunggyu, a powerful attorney who commanded influence and power. I wanted people to listen to me. When I appeared before you again, I would be the type of man you’d be forced to respect or acknowledge.”

Woohyun was on the verge of shouting “I’ve never known you!” or breaking into tears, but he knew this was Sunggyu. It was the Sunggyu he would always have seen, if he had just known him a little more.

“She offered me a deal, Woohyun. If I committed bribery on her behalf, she would give me whatever I wanted. And because I was envious and greedy, I accepted. In a church, sitting next to a poster that read ‘Jesus is Lord’, I sold my soul to the devil.”

Sunggyu only whispered those words, but they rang like thunder in Woohyun’s ears.

“I bribed those judges and I offered those bribes, and I laundered money and I lied, and I did everything that Kim Hyemin asked me to do.”

He had expected this. He knew Sunggyu would admit to bribery. But it still hurt so much to hear. It would be easy for Woohyun to just blame Kim Hyemin, but he didn’t. This was Sunggyu’s story.

“The whole scheme was easy. I was paid well for my part. Bribery wasn’t hard. I can tell you which judges are easy to bribe, which ones require more effort, and which ones don’t take the money. Unfortunately for me and the defendants, Judges Byeon, Yoon, and Park all fall into the third category.”

The sadness in Sunggyu’s voice told Woohyun that the story was coming to an end.

“And there you have it. Everything. And it doesn’t matter that I told you. The prosecution will find out all of this eventually,”

“No, it’s not over,” Woohyun said, speaking again. “It’s not too late. You can still do something.”

“What?” Sunggyu scoffed. “My life is ruined and I’m going to jail.”

“You can confess.”

“And become a witness for the prosecution?” Sunggyu gave a hopeless, mirthless laugh. “You don’t understand the demon that I’m dealing with. You’ve only heard rumors, but I’ve seen Kim Hyemin’s connections. You think she only bribes judges? Judicial bribery is just the racket that she runs with Kwon Hyunjoon and Han Jaeseong. She has a separate group of attorneys who bribe politicians for her, another one just for prosecutors, and a third group which handles the police. She’ll pay off journalists and newspapers to spread rumors or suppress a story, and if she still has trouble she can ask gangsters for help. I’ve never seen her connected with a murder, but I wouldn’t put it past her.”

Sunggyu was clenching his fists, face red and angry. “Knowing those risks, why would I go to the prosecution? Even in the best case situation, the result would be exactly the same. I would ruin my life and go to jail.”

Woohyun stared at Sunggyu one more time, hoping his words could reason with the man. “You’re right, Sunggyu. Kim Hyemin is powerful. But she’ll also sacrifice you for her own power. Right now you don’t know how long you’ll go to jail. But pleading guilty is the only way you can get a shorter sentence, and it’ll lead to the best likely outcome for you.”

Now it was time for Woohyun to speak the truth. If Sunggyu would accuse him of being the country’s golden boy, then maybe it was time to act like one. “More than that, admitting your wrongs is the right thing to do. It's what I would want you to do.”

Sunggyu stared at him for a second before he answered.

“Why are you even trying to help me?” Sunggyu’s voice shook for just a second, and Woohyun hoped that the momentary trembling meant something.

“Because I still care for you,” Woohyun answered. “You need to do this.”

Sunggyu turned away without answering, but there was a softness to his face that Woohyun had not seen in a long time. And for the first time in a long time, even though he didn’t believe anybody was listening, Woohyun prayed that Sunggyu heard him.

 

**\---**

 

It was the beginning of the end. First, Woohyun had to finish his trial. But each day, after the trial was over, he would go to Attorney Baek and prepare his divorce papers.

There were a few spectators in the gallery of Department 12. Prosecutor Cho was already at her table, seated even earlier than Woohyun. Judge Park arrived a few minutes after Woohyun to begin court.

“Alright, before we begin jury selection, the court has several preliminary motions in the case of UY-0034-02, Prosecutor-General v. Uhm Changshik,” said Park Je-in, taking time to clear his throat first. “First, we have a motion from defense counsel to exclude the medical exam of the victim, and the prosecution’s motion in opposition.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” said Woohyun, standing up at his table and turning momentarily to the defendant. His client was besides him, looking sullen. Woohyun had to remind himself that Uhm Changshik was only twenty. _I don’t even want to think of all the mistakes I made when I was his age._ “The prosecution has turned over its witness list and proposed evidence list, and Prosecutor Cho has told me that a medical examiner is not expected to testify at trial. With that in mind, the defendant hereby moves to exclude the report and results of the rape kit, on the grounds that it violates the defendant’s right to confront witnesses against him.”

“Naturally, the prosecution opposes the motion,” said Prosecutor Cho, jumping in even though it was not her turn to speak. Woohyun was willing to overlook this.

“Article XII, Section 1 of the Constitution guarantees that a criminal defendant has the right to confront the witnesses against him. The Supreme Court in _Ex parte Yoon_ established decades ago that a witness’s testimony cannot be used against a defendant unless the witness is present to testify in court, or if the witness is unavailable, if the defendant had a prior chance for cross-examination. _Prosecutor v. Yang_ extended this right to written, testimonial statements, requiring that the author of the statement testify in person. That case prohibited the practice of allowing witnesses to submit affidavits instead of testifying in court. The affidavits could not be confronted if their authors were not present. The logic in _Yang_ was that such written statements would have been identical to testimony if the author was testifying.”

“I’m familiar with _Yoon_ and _Yang_ , counselor. They’re seminal cases in the history of criminal law,” said Judge Park. “But are you sure they would apply here? We’re not dealing with eyewitnesses, as I would call them.”

“The entire report constitutes one testimonial statement as per Yang. Yang held that a statement is testimonial if it is made with the expectation of being used at trial,” explained Woohyun. “The rape-kit was performed, the photos were taken, the injuries were noted, and the DNA was analyzed purely in anticipation of trial. These medical reports arise solely in the context of rape prosecutions, and are prepared to assist the prosecution in bringing a case against people like my client. The medical examiner’s notes are no different from, say, a police officer recording the victim’s wounds so that they could testify that a victim had been wounded.”

“But the rape kits also include photos and DNA examinations,” said Judge Park, continuing. “It’s not like the photos and a DNA match can ‘accuse’ a person of a crime.”

“Yes, Your Honor, no more than a photo of broken glass at a crime scene necessarily accuses a defendant of burglary. Nevertheless, the law requires that every witness must be available for confrontation, even if they do not personally view the scene of the crime itself. To state otherwise is to allow the prosecution to bolster its circumstantial evidence, such as DNA evidence, without giving the defendant his right to confront witnesses.”

If Woohyun had to disclose his trial strategy, he would have admitted it wasn’t the DNA that worried him. It was not necessarily unhelpful that Uhm Changshik’s DNA had been found inside the victim, given that the client had admitted to sleeping with her. However, Woohyun had seen the photos of the victim. He knew that the bruises and scratches on her body were more likely the product of rape than from normal sexual intercourse. A jury might infer a lack of consent from the injuries.

“And how does the prosecution respond?” Judge Park asked, turning to Prosecutor Cho. “First, why can’t the prosecution just bring in the expert?”

Prosecutor Cho looked embarrassed for just a second. “The medical examiner who prepared the report retired two days after the test was conducted. He’s currently on a long-term vacation in Bali or Tahiti and we haven’t been able to reach him. There’s no way he’ll be back for trial.”

“That sounds unfortunate. Do you have any other argument why I should allow this report in?” Judge Park asked.

The woman seemed earnest to prove she was correct, nodding her head. “The report can absolutely be admitted. This isn’t a normal eyewitness that we’re dealing with. We’re not talking about the medical examiner sitting in his office and thinking about how he can send Uhm Changshik to jail. He was performing a reliable, scientific test with the DNA, which has proven to be reliable by every court in the country. Also, he photographed the victim’s injuries just to assess her health. There was no guarantee of the photos being used for prosecution. And the report is hardly accusatory. It doesn’t say that Uhm Changshik committed a rape or any other sort of crime. It only says that Uhm’s DNA, along with another man’s, was found inside the victim. Therefore, it was not a testimonial statement.”

“And how would you respond, Attorney Nam?” Judge Park said, turning again.

“The law says a statement is either testimonial or it is not. The prosecution cannot carve a third category of ‘scientific’ evidence that is not testimonial because it is reliable. These reports were meant to be used in the prosecution of some person, even if unidentified at time of testing. Therefore, they are testimonial and must be subject to cross-examination,” argued Woohyun.

There was a pause as the judge looked down at his copy of the report.

“I agree with defense counsel. The report was created with prosecution in mind. It is a testimonial statement. It is inadmissible in the absence of cross-examination. Next time, Prosecutor Cho, please tell your experts to not retire so early,” said the judge. “And now we’ll begin jury selection.”

Jury selection took a day and a half, as Woohyun and Prosecutor Cho narrowed down the jury pool. The voir dire process was surprisingly quicker than Woohyun had expected. Few members of the jury pool had heard of the case, and even fewer had formed any preconceived notions of the case. Prosecutor Cho was sparing in her use of challenges for cause and did not exercise any peremptory challenges. Woohyun was only slightly more aggressive in challenging potential jurors. The jury was constituted of seven men and five women, with just one alternate.

Both sides chose to present opening arguments on the afternoon of the second day. Opening statements were meant only to provide the jury with a roadmap of the trial. As was required by law, Prosecutor Cho began the trial.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” said Prosecutor Cho, beginning her opening statement. “Thank you for your service. Your role as jurors is important because you are tasked under the Constitution with determining facts. After hearing all of the testimony, from all of the witnesses, you will determine the fact that the defendant, Uhm Changshik, did rape the victim, Kang Hyunseo. You will listen to Hyunseo as she tells you that she befriended the defendant, and went to a party where he was present. And you will hear her tell you that when she rebuffed his advances, the defendant violently raped her. You will hear from Hyunseo’s friend, Heo Taeshik, that she was distraught and traumatized after her ordeal. And when you finish hearing all the testimony, you will convict the defendant for the crime of rape.”

Prosecutor Cho’s opening statement was extremely short, and Woohyun’s statement was not much longer.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. You’re here because of a story,” explained Woohyun, “a story you will hear from the victim, her friend, and from the defendant himself. You will hear Changshik talk about Kang Hyunseo, a woman he knew well and had befriended. You will hear that on numerous times before this occasion, Changshik and Hyunseo had entered into a relationship of sorts, sleeping with each other on numerous occasions. You will also hear that the events in question, on October 14, were no different. Changshik will tell you that everything that occurred on that day was consensual. And you will also hear that immediately following October 14, nothing changed in Hyunseo’s life. She will tell you, instead, that she entered into an identical relationship with her friend Taeshik. And after hearing all of these facts, you will decide that Uhm Changshik did not commit the crime of rape.”

After opening statements were given, court was adjourned for the day. The prosecution began its case-in-chief on the third day. Prosecutor Cho first chose to call various friends of Hyunseo to the stand. Three of Hyunseo’s friends, all women, laid the background for the nights of October 14, explaining that Hyunseo had gone to the party, that she had known Taeshik and Changshik, and that she left the party before midnight. Woohyun decided strategically that he would not spend as much time cross-examining them. On cross, the first statements he elicited were the acknowledgements that all people at the party, including the victim and the defendant, had been consuming alcohol. He also succeeded in getting the witnesses to testify that Hyunseo’s relationship with Changshik was similar to her relationship with Taeshik.

The critical stage began when the prosecution called Kang Hyunseo to the stand. She looked very much like she did at the preliminary hearing, attractive yet carrying herself uncomfortably, and Woohyun suspected that she did not want to be present.

“Good afternoon,” said Prosecutor Cho, trying to seem disarming. Woohyun took note of the jury’s reaction. They did not seem disposed one way or another towards the prosecution or the defense.

Prosecutor Cho then proceeded to ask questions to create a factual foundation. Much of what Hyunseo testified had been stated at the preliminary hearing. Hyunseo explained that she was twenty years old, was studying at Changdong Fine Arts College, and that she had gone to the house at 14 Yangmo Road. She had gone up to an upstairs room with the defendant. And then, she explained, Changshik had raped her.

“We were on the bed, and he had his hand under my skirt,” she explained. “And it was too fast. Changshik usually was slower when we had sex, even if he wasn’t particularly gentle. And that made me want to stop this time. I didn’t know if I wanted to have sex right there. I don’t even know whose house it was, or whose bedroom. So I told him to stop.”

“And how did he react?” Prosecutor Cho asked, eyes fixed on the victim.

“He slapped me with his right hand, and then he pushed me down onto the bed,” said Hyunseo, her eyes darting from the jury to Judge Park and then to the prosecutor. Woohyun caught her glance at least once. The only person she did not look at was the defendant. “He used his knees to get my legs apart, and then he ripped my panties with I think his left hand.”

“And then what happened?” Prosecutor Cho asked again. This was the critical stage of testimony.

“He entered me,” said the witness, sobbing. “He had my legs apart and he was inside me, and his hands were on my shoulders and I froze. I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. And I know he wasn’t inside me for more than a few minutes, but it felt so long, you know? It felt like my arms and legs were made of lead, and I remember seeing his face, all snarling and angry. But then he pulled out, and he entered me again, from behind, and at least this time I couldn’t see his face. I don’t know how long he was inside me, but then he stopped.”

Prosecutor Cho chose to pause for a period, to allow Hyunseo’s testimony to resonate with the jury, before she asked another question. “What did he do next?”

“He stormed out of the room, and I just cried. I made my way down, and I left with Taeshik,” she explained.

On cross-examination, Woohyun elicited the testimony he desired: Hyunseo admitted that she slept with Heo Taeshik just three days after the events where she alleged rape.

Heo Taeshik was similar in build and face to the defendant, and Woohyun suspected that Kang Hyunseo liked men of a certain type. During direct examination, Taeshik admitted that he was the one who convinced Hyunseo to go to the police and report the rape. On cross-examination, he also admitted to sleeping with Hyunseo shortly after October 14.

“You slept with her before October 14, right?” Woohyun asked.

“Yes,” said Taeshik.

“And you slept with her on October 17, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you had sex with her vaginally?”

“Yes.”

“And then anally?”

“You weren’t concerned about whether she could handle it?”

“I was, actually.”

“And she responded just as usual?”

Taeshik looked like he wanted to throw something at Woohyun, but the witness only nodded.

“Could you state something for the record?” Woohyun asked, turning briefly to the court reporter.

“Yes,” said Taeshik, through gritted teeth.

The court adjourned for the third day. When court resumed on the fourth day, Woohyun began by calling the defendant, Uhm Changshik, to the stand.

“After you and Hyunseo were on the bed, what happened?” Woohyun asked.

“She put her hand on my thigh and I realized what she wanted. We undid my belt—either she did or I did, I don’t remember—and then she performed oral sex on me. Afterwards, we had sex, vaginally, and then when she wanted more, we did it anally. She was extremely eager. In fact, when we were doing it, we were first doing it face-to-face, and then she had us stop. When we resumed, I was on my back while she straddled me.”

“Who finished first?” Woohyun asked.

“I did, I think. And once we were done, she left first. I took a shower and went downstairs sometime later,” Changshik said. As he had been instructed, he made sure to look at the jury. Woohyun did not detect sympathy for the defendant either. The jury was being incredibly difficult to read.

Prosecutor Cho began by trying to enter Changshik’s confession into evidence.

“Objection!” Woohyun responded. “The confession was already thrown out during motions in limine.”

“It was barred from being used in the prosecution’s case-in-chief,” Prosecutor Cho tried to argue. “We’re now using it for impeachment purposes.”

“Which is not permissible. The confession was obtained in violation of the defendant’s right to silence and right to counsel,” said Woohyun instead.

“ _Prosecutor v. Kim_ , 1994, says otherwise,” retorted Prosecutor Cho, “holding that statements obtained in violation of the right to counsel are admissible for impeachment purposes.”

“It was a different situation,” Woohyun objected. “ _Prosecutor v. Kim_ applied to the post-indictment right to counsel. Here, we’re dealing with the pre-indictment, post-arrest right to counsel and silence. Furthermore, _In re Kong_ said a coerced confession is inadmissible for any purpose. The confession cannot be admitted for any purpose,”

The judge nodded. “Defense counsel is right. _In re Kong_ and _Prosecutor v. Kim_ dealt with two different constitutional rights. The holding in the former was unaffected by the latter. The confession will not be admitted.”

“Your Honor, the defense requests that the mention of the confession be stricken from the record and for the jury to disregard all mention of it,” Woohyun said.

“So granted,” said the judge.

And on cross-examination, the defendant managed to hold his own. Despite repeated questions, to the point that Woohyun had to object on the grounds of badgering, Changshik refused to admit that he had raped Hyunseo. Prosecutor Cho could only point out discrepancies between Hyunseo and Changshik’s testimony, but as Woohyun noted, that was to be expected.

The fifth day opened with closing arguments before the case was submitted to a jury. This time, the prosecution and defense were allowed to argue why the evidence supported their presentation of the facts.

“You heard the victim, Kang Hyunseo, emotionally testify that the defendant raped her,” said Prosecutor Cho. “And you can contrast it with the way the defendant prepared his story. Which testimony was true? It was the victim’s testimony: consistent, heartfelt, and genuine. And whose testimony provides additional support? Heo Taeshik, her friend, testified as to the victim’s demeanor and reaction. You know, from the testimony of these two people, that the defendant committed the crime of rape. There is no room for reasonable doubt.”

Woohyun, in contrast, explored the discrepancies.

“You heard Hyunseo testify, and you also heard Changshik testify. You know from Hyunseo’s testimony that she had formerly, and frequently, had sex with the defendant. What happened at 14 Yangmo Road was normal between the two of them. And you heard about the victim’s relationship with Heo Taeshik, just three days after the alleged attack. That, too, was normal between the two of them. You, as the jury, must ask why Hyunseo was ready and willing to have sex with another man so soon after what otherwise must have been the most traumatic day of her life. As the jury, you will have one answer for that question: what happened between Changshik and Hyunseo that day was completely consensual. And that calls for an acquittal.”

The case was then submitted to the jury. Woohyun and the client returned to one of the courthouse’s meeting rooms.

“Do you think I won?” Changshik asked, head bobbing animatedly. “I never raped Hyunseo. I’m completely innocent. I went up there, and I said the truth.”

“The whole truth?” Woohyun asked.

“Yes!” Changshik said again. “And I’ll say everything over again. It was consensual.”

The jury returned a verdict before the close of day.

Woohyun and the defendant sat at their table. Prosecutor Cho was alone at her’s, and the victim was somewhere in the courtroom gallery. As the jury filed in, the foreman of the jury handed a form to the judge.

Judge Park Je-in solemnly polled the jury.

“Have you, the twelve members of the jury, arrived at a verdict in the case of Prosecutor-General v. Uhm Changshik?” He asked?

“We have,” said the foreman, standing up calmly, taking out his own form.

“And that is?”

“We, the members of the jury, find the defendant,” the foreman began, pausing for emphasis as the entire courtroom listened. Woohyun was just as tense as everybody else, alert to anything the foreman might say. “Not guilty.”

Woohyun exhaled, and Changshik only gave a short, harsh sigh of relief.

“Thank you for your service, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. You are hereby excused. The defendant is free to go. We are adjourned,” said the judge. With a swing of his gavel, the trial was over.

Woohyun still had the time to take Changshik by the arm, for a few final remarks.

“Don’t get in trouble again,” Woohyun hissed, and the client shrunk away for half a second. But then Changshik nodded.

“Thank you, Attorney Nam. I don’t expect to need your help again.”

And just like that, Woohyun’s first trial, from arrest all the way to verdict, was over. It was almost Friday evening. Now it would be time to talk to Sungyeol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/west_of_autumn)! 
> 
> Thank you all for the comments since the last chapter. As I keep saying:
> 
>  _I don't want to write a story that doesn't interest my readers, especially since I have so many other stories I want to write. Kudos and comments won't make me write any faster (I have a very predictable writing output, and other priorities as well). However, they tell me that readers are interested in this story, as opposed to one of my other works-in-progress. If readers want me to write chapters of_ husband _instead of one of my other stories, please let me know._


	19. Relief from judgment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are any readers who have been diligently waiting, I thank you for your patience. I didn't quite know how to end this story, so I decided to try to wrap things up rather than have this fic stay unfinished forever. I hope everybody enjoys! This is the second-last chapter with any narrative substance. Chapter 20 will be a short epilogue, and Chapter 21 will have some notes and an appendix.

Ten years ago, Woohyun remembered, Sungyeol had spent weeks deciding on when and where to propose marriage. Along the beach? In a park? At their apartment? In the morning? Late into the evening?

In the end, Sungyeol had settled on what could have been a cliche. Woohyun thought everything about Sungyeol’s choice was safe and predictable: the two of them were having an evening stroll through a park in Hwayang, the capital. At the summit of Yeongak Hill, in the midst of trees and lights, Sungyeol bent on one knee and asked Woohyun to stay with him for the rest of his life.

 _You could see the National Assembly building from Yeongak Hill_ , Woohyun realized, perhaps belatedly. He had accepted back then. _And if I had to go back in time, I might do it all over again. But that was a different time, and this is now._

He had no more time to spend on deliberation, heading home from the courtroom, cellphone in hand. He would not break the news to Sungyeol like this. He would need to meet face-to-face. But there would be no slowness or thoughtfulness. Only function and utility would determine his actions.

“Sungyeol? Yes, it’s me, Woohyun. I know. It’s been a while. I want you to come home. Just one more time. I have news.”

Perhaps in another life or another time, he would have cried or sobbed or been angry or sad at the decision he was about to make. But it was too late for that, wasn’t it? _There was something sad in knowing what you had, and then losing it,_ thought Woohyun. _But was what I had with Sungyeol ever anything special?_

Woohyun thought back to everybody: Sungyeol. Sunggyu. Myungsoo. Howon. Dongwoo. Sungjong. _We had been such a team, weren’t we? The happiest days of our lives, before we got too deep dating one another, and before we split up to go on our opposite ways._

Sungyeol’s voice on the other line was soft, Woohyun could tell, but he could barely make out any words. Something within him wished that Sungyeol knew exactly what was coming.

“Yes, I’ll be there, Woohyun. I’ve got my own things to tell you,” Sungyeol said from the other end. Then there was quiet, as Woohyun walked home with his briefcase in hand.

And then he was home again. Home, in their Art Deco mansion with the empty, airy rooms and light, jazz music that lingered in the background and the shelves with their law school textbooks that hadn’t been touched in ten years. When Woohyun walked through the house, he spotted the photo album, in the exact place that he had left it months ago. He had closed it on a photo of him, Sungyeol, Sunggyu, Myungsoo, Howon, and Dongwoo. And when he flipped it open, he came to a picture of all of them together.

Sungyeol on one end of the row and Woohyun on the other, and between them were Dongwoo, Sungjong, Myungsoo, Sunggyu, and Howon in that order. Woohyun laughed at the image. _It’s a selca. A selca!_ He thought to himself with light humor. He gingerly took the photo out of its page, turning to its back.

In _his_ own familiar scrawl was just a line. _Would it be something cliche? ‘As long as we are infinite’ or ‘Memories are forever’ or something endearing and sentimental?_ But the actual writing was anticlimactic, and Woohyun was glad for that. If he _had_ written something deep, he might have cried.

Ten years ago, Woohyun had written _‘I like these memories’_ and that was it.

And perhaps that was all he needed to say.

Woohyun opened the door for Sungyeol mere seconds later. The other man was standing there in his best suit again. There was no bouquet of flowers in his hand. No smile, or indeed any other expression, on his handsome face. But Woohyun smiled, just briefly as he moved to give his husband a kiss on the lips.

_It’s over._

Sungyeol tasted like sadness.

Woohyun pulled away a half-second later to look at Sungyeol’s expression. It would not have been enough to say that Sungyeol was sad. The taller man now had a mournful smile, as if he knew he once had something of great value but had now lost it.

There was no need for the two of them to say anything. For a brief moment, their silence told one other everything they needed to know.

 _I’m sorry_ was what Sungyeol’s silence said. _I know I did you wrong._

 _I still love you_ was what Woohyun’s silence said. _I’m neither forgetting you nor hating you. I’m just moving on from you._

He should have waited for Sungyeol to speak first. That would have been right, to have Sungyeol come to him as a supplicant. It had been Sungyeol who had taken their relationship, so right and pure, and thrown it away in favor of something utterly meretricious. But in so many ways, it was Woohyun who should have been asking for forgiveness, for his own selfish ways. _Please forgive me for leaving you,_ Woohyun wanted to say. _I’m selfish because I want you to keep loving me, even after I walk away from you, yet I still want you to be there for me in case I ever want you back._

Instead, he said “Hello, Sungyeol.”

“You’re leaving me, for real this time,” said Sungyeol with a flat tone, stating what he already knew. “You want me to sign the divorce papers, so that we officially split.”

Woohyun nodded. The joint petition for dissolution of marriage was in his briefcase, just inches away. He would not let his husband walk away without it.

“I’ve decided to divorce you. And I’ll explain why,” Woohyun said, trying to withhold judgment. “Our relationship was wonderful while it lasted, but you’re not the same person that I married. I’ve decided to leave you because I need to find the right person. Your decision to commit adultery and your subsequent deceptions indicate to me that our relationship can no longer work. At the same time, I will be forever indebted to you for the love and affection that you have shown me, and I wish you no harm. Therefore, we will go our separate ways.”

“Forever?” Sungyeol asked, his head to one side?

“Perhaps. We might remain friends. Or perhaps we will drift apart. Maybe we will never see each other again. All I know is that I will leave you now. I will never claim to know what the future has in store for either of us,” said Woohyun. “And there’s something else I want to tell you. If you can’t guess what it is, you haven’t been paying attention.”

Sungyeol’s mouth grew tight, pulled into a taut expression. “Is it Sunggyu?”

“Yes,” said Woohyun. “I learned from Prosecutor Park Soonhye that you slept with Myungsoo. In a fit of momentary weakness—or momentary strength, I haven’t decided yet—I went to Sunggyu. He comforted me, and I slept with him. I make no apologies for it. You and I were separated at the time. I had told you there was no guarantee we would reconcile.”

Sungyeol only nodded in understanding, and Woohyun wanted to laugh. He did not expect Sungyeol to be, out of all things, so considerate of infidelity.

“Are you in love with Sunggyu?” Sungyeol asked.

“The kind of head-over-heels love that I once felt for you? No. I don’t know what my relationship with Sunggyu is. He still shows the same care for me that he showed when we were dating in college. But our relationship floundered for very real reasons,” Woohyun answered. _Sungyeol doesn’t need a reminder._ Woohyun thought briefly. _These are all problems that I’ve told him about._.

“Sunggyu considered me ‘the President’s son’ first and foremost. He said he cared for me, even though he refused to date me openly, forcing us to date in secret for two years. When I broached the subject of marriage with him, he refused to even consider the possibility. And then, when our relationship was already on rocky grounds, he slept with a woman just to spite me,” said Woohyun, remembering all of the problems he once had. “I do not know if Sunggyu has overcome these issues. But once I leave you, I’m willing to give him a chance.”

Woohyun laughed, at the absurdity of what he was about to say. “But I don’t know if he'll be available. He might go to jail for ten years. In that case, I wouldn’t even give him a chance. But I’ll have options. I’m about to be single again.”

Sungyeol nodded again. “That makes the two of us,” he noted glumly.

That brought up more questions from Woohyun. “You know, Sungyeol,” Woohyun said, pursing his lips for a second. “I confronted Myungsoo after I confronted you. He’s still in love with you.”

“But I don’t love him. Not the way I love you,” Sungyeol said warily.

It was Woohyun’s turn to nod. “And I’m not telling you to go back to him. I just want you to be aware of his feelings.”

Sungyeol smiled. “And can I tell you about my feelings?”

“Is there anything between us we haven’t shared?” Woohyun answered rhetorically.

“I think I’ll always be in love with you. I won’t find anybody like you,” he said.

“That’s because there’s nobody like me,” Woohyun answered.

When the two of them laughed, they knew their marriage was over. The rest was just paperwork. But when Woohyun left, the same thought was on both their minds.

This wasn’t ‘Goodbye.’ It was ‘See you later.’

 

**\---**

 

“Maybe this is what should have happened a long time ago,” said Howon with a sigh. Woohyun sat across the cafe table from him, perusing the newspaper that the other man had brought for him.

 _Nam Woohyun files for divorce!_ The headline blared, followed by much spilled ink on the former relationship between the former President’s son and his now-disgraced husband. Besides the lede was another article, in font almost as large: _Lee Sungyeol drops out of Changdong by-election._ That article had several paragraphs describing how the race was now shaping up between Min Youngwoo and a now-resurgent Sohn Kwangjae.

“How did the party react?” Woohyun asked, half-knowing the answer. “Which members of the Supreme Council were angry, and which ones were happy?”

“All of them were happy. It’s only a matter of degree. Hong Soomin and Yoo Jungmi were ecstatic. They were always aligned with your mother’s faction, and Sungyeol’s candidacy had put them in a precarious bind,” Howon explained, racing to discuss the politics behind it. “Choi Gilsoo, Kwak Taecheol, and Kim Yoosun are using the by-election as a power play. They’re demanding that the Party Chair endorse and support Sohn. Sohn will probably lose, and then they’ll demand that the Party Chair step down.”

“And what happens to Sungyeol inside the party? Is there any way to save him?”

“In Changdong? I don’t think so. In national politics? Well, who knows? The press might call Sungyeol a philanderer and a playboy, but so what? Politicians have survived worse scandals before. Choo Youngshin received a suspended sentence for tax evasion and perjury, and now he’s the front-runner for the presidency. Lee Hongtaek started his presidential campaign the day after he left a jail cell. In twenty years, who will remember what Sungyeol did in his personal life?”

Woohyun pursed his lips, thinking of another scandal. “What about Kim Hyemin? Is she going to recover from her scandal?”

“Her? I hope not!” Howon said with a bitter laugh. His face grew serious in disappointment as he continued speaking. “The prosecution’s case is weaker than I would hope, and I don’t need to be a lawyer to tell you that. None of the defendants are admitting guilt. The prosecution has little evidence connecting the representatives to the bribery, and even less evidence connecting the chaebol bosses who were paying them.”

“She could go free,” Woohyun said with a pause. “Even as Sunggyu goes to jail.”

Howon gave a nod. “The evidence is far stronger against him. How often do you hear about a sitting judge testifying against a lawyer? I’m not holding out hope for him, and he was a friend of ours too. He’d do well to be the first co-defendant to snitch, while the prosecutor-general might still offer a deal. Do you still keep in contact with him?”

Woohyun gave a wry smile, the way a man shares an inside joke only with himself, remembering the wild night he had shared with Sunggyu. “In a sense.”

“Well, do you think there’s anything we can do?” Howon asked, oblivious to Woohyun’s meaning.

“Not anything that we can do,” said Woohyun. “It’s all up to Sunggyu now, isn’t it? He can choose to cooperate with the government, or he can take his chances at trial. He might go to jail, or he might walk free.”

“He still needs to deal with the bar association even if he walks. The discipline committee can be a demon to deal with,” Howon pointed out.

“I think jail is probably the worst option,” responded Woohyun. “A disbarment can be forgiven, even if only theoretically. But if he serves time, Sunggyu could never get those years of his life back. ”

 _And I would never get those years of my life back, if I waited for him._ Woohyun thought. _If I was truly in love with him, I could wait, couldn’t I?_

“What are _you_ going to do in the meantime?” Woohyun said, shifting topics. “Sungyeol’s resigned, _and_ he’s no longer running for election. I don’t know what he’s going to do, and you’re not going to wait for Sungyeol’s career to recover. I know you too well for that. Are you going to start a solo practice or find another employer?”

Howon shrugged his shoulders with an exaggerated gesture. “Who knows?” But then his shoulders dropped and he grew serious. “It’s not a good time to develop a solo practice. It’s better to take a side now, before Kim Yoosun and Choi Gilsoo tear the party apart. Sungyeol’s scandal was a spark that ignited a powderkeg, even if it might have otherwise burnt out by itself.”

He drained the cup of lukewarm coffee before him in a single gulp, before turning back to Woohyun. “I have an interview in Hwayang in about an hour. It’s with Yoo Jungmi, in case you were wondering. I’m already taking sides. Good to see you today. I’ll see you again though, right? At Dongwoo’s wedding. You’re invited too.”

Woohyun had already forgotten. _I’m going to be there. But with Sungyeol? Or Sunggyu? Neither?_ He would decide later. For now, though, it was enough to remember that he would be attending a wedding for the first time since his own.

“I’m going. I’ll see you there too,” said Woohyun.

 

**\---**

 

There would be one more issue to deal with. This one took place outside the Hwayang District Court, in the wintry air of early January.

The corruption scandal brought a crowd outside the courtroom, with journalists and reporters clustered at the base of the steps with their cameras and microphones. There were both protesters and supporters too, contesting the issues with placards denouncing or supporting the defendants. Woohyun would have ignored them, wanting to pass them to get into the courthouse, had not he heard extra commotion from the journalists behind him.

“Wait, what’s going on?” “I don’t know, this isn’t expected to happen.” “What?”

When Woohyun turned around, the sight surprised him as well. Black police vans pulled into the driveway outside the courthouse. Masked officers bearing conspicuous weapons emerged, flanking the door of the last van. It was a show of force. There was no other reason to show police officers with their guns drawn, right in front of the courthouse.

One of the officers pulled open the door of the police van. From inside emerged a tall man with dyed-brown hair, his hands handcuffed before him. Woohyun only watched in silence as two policemen grabbed him by the arms and began marching him up the stairs past the crowd.

“Excuse me, officers,” came a woman’s voice from Woohyun’s side. Woohyun watched in surprise as Attorney Moon Hyunsook emerged. “Can I have a few seconds to talk with Mr. Kim here?”

One of the many policemen put his hand out to stop her. “I’m going to stop you right there. Do _not_ move, or I will have you arrested.”

“For what? Let me guess, for that ‘interfering with the police’ rationale that you assert everyday?” Attorney Moon scowled. Her client, Kim Hyemin, was walking a few steps behind her, glowering at Sunggyu.

“No, for intimidating a witness,” said the officer.

Woohyun gulped. _If the officer is telling the truth, and there’s no reason to suspect he isn’t, what would this mean?_

“A witness? Is that what Kim Sunggyu is now? A witness?” Attorney Moon said, continuing to stand her ground.

“Yes, and you’ll see soon enough,” said the officer.

And the two policemen continued to frog-march Sunggyu up the stairs, in view of the press and the entire world. Attorney Moon may have asked something, but her words were instantly drowned by the sound of camera flashes and reporters asking questions for Sunggyu. Woohyun raced through the crowd instead of waiting for Sunggyu, down to Department 4 where the trial would be.

He burst into the courtroom, mere minutes before Sunggyu, without any time to talk to the witness. As soon as Woohyun sat in a gallery seat, the judge called court into session.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen, we can now begin proceedings for JL-1115-14, Prosecutor-General v. Kim Sunggyu,” said the judge. “We are here for a change of plea from one of the co-defendants, is that correct?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” said Attorney Bang Yeojoon, representing Sunggyu. His client entered seconds later, still escorted by the police officers.

“The prosecution and the defendant have now reached a deal,” said Prosecutor Yang. “We have a formally-written plea bargain before the court. The defendant will plead guilty to a single charge of bribery, serve three years in jail, and cooperate as a witness against the remaining defendants. In exchange, the prosecutor-general will drop the other twenty-nine charges.”

“And we object,” said Attorney Moon, racing into the courtroom. “Your Honor, we were given no notice that the defendant was going to change his plea.”

“This is not your case,” Judge Byeon Jiwon said, frowning. “You have no standing to object to any of this.”

“This case affects my client, Rep. Kim Hyemin, and it’s fundamentally unfair. We were not informed by this.”

“Your case is on schedule for a status conference on Thursday, if I remember right,” said the judge. “You can raise your objections there. I repeat, Attorney Moon, this is _not_ your case. Now please remain silent or I will have you ejected from the courtroom.

“No need for that,” said the lawyer, turning on her heels. “I’ll see myself out.”

But even as Attorney Moon left, her client entered. Kim Hyemin remained silent and aloof, making her way into the gallery on the opposite side from Woohyun.

“Sorry for the disruption,” said Attorney Bang, rushing to apologize. “May we proceed?”

“We may,” said the judge. He turned to Sunggyu. “We will now begin the change of plea. Do you wish to begin?”

Sunggyu stood up, his hands still handcuffed before him but his head held high. “I do.”

“Then come up to the witness stand. The clerk will swear you in,” said the judge. Once that was done, the judge began to read from plea agreement.

“Is your name Kim Sunggyu?” He began.

“Yes,” said Sunggyu, looking only at Kim Hyemin with contempt.

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-four years old.”

“What is your education?”

“I graduated from Yeonsoong University.”

The following questions were straight from the plea agreement script. Woohyun had heard all of these questions once before, when Sungyeol had pled guilty.

The first questions that the judge asked dealt with Sunggyu’s mind. Sunggyu answered all of them in the affirmative.

“Are you currently of sound mind? Do you understand the meaning of the questions I am asking you? Did you sign the plea agreement that I currently have in my hands? Did you read the plea agreement before signing it? Did you understand it? Do you understand the criminal charge in question?"

The rest of the questions dealt with Sunggyu’s rights, and the answers were likewise the same.

“Do you understand that pleading guilty to this charge has the same legal effect as being convicted by a jury? Do you understand that by pleading guilty, you waive your right to counsel at a trial? Are you satisfied with the performance of your attorney in this matter? Do you understand that by pleading guilty, you are waiving your right to a jury trial? Do you understand that by pleading guilty, you are waiving your right not to testify? Do you understand that by pleading guilty, you are waiving your right to confront adverse witnesses? Do you understand that by pleading guilty, you are waiving your right to subpoena witnesses in your own defense? Do you understand that by pleading guilty, you are waiving your right to the presumption of innocence?"

Once that part was done, it was time to discuss the sentence.

“Do you understand that by pleading guilty, you can be sentenced to the maximum sentence for the charge as listed in the plea agreement? The agreement currently lists a three-year jail term.”

“Yes.”

“Knowing about the rights you are choosing to give up as well as the potential consequences, do you still wish to make a plea at this time?”

“Yes.”

“As part of the plea, you must now provide a factual basis for your plea.”

It was Sunggyu’s turn to confess, just as it had once been Sungyeol’s turn to confess.

Sunggyu cleared his throat. His eyes remained staring at Kim Hyemin. The politician had now crossed her hands, her gaze full of amusement as opposed to venom.

 _She’s still not afraid,_ thought Woohyun. _This woman is arrogant, or mad, or both._

“I am an attorney. About seven years ago, I began going to Heemang Presbyterian Church. There I met Representative Kim Hyemin. I made a deal with her, where I would commit bribery on her behalf if she offered me her political patronage. I then proceeded to bribe numerous judges on her behalf.”

“The scheme worked like this: influential politicians or businessmen were often litigating in court. They would go to Representative Kim, Representative Han Jaeseong, or Representative Kwon Hyunjoon. These clients would provide bribe money to the representatives, to be used to pay off the judges in their court cases. As an attorney, I would provide the client’s money to the judges directly. This arrangement gave the clients plausible deniability in case the bribes were traced back. In exchange, the representatives received kickbacks, in the form of a cut of the resulting civil judgments.”

“In taking part, I bribed numerous judges on behalf of numerous businessmen. I did not succeed in one case, when I tried to offer a bribe to Judge Yeom Doeun on behalf of Moon Bumki, but I was overwhelmingly successful in other cases.”

The courtroom was silent, listening to Sunggyu admit the sordid corruption scandal he had plunged into. Even Judge Byeon seemed unsure to proceed.

“Is all of this true?” He had to ask again.

“Every word,” responded Sunggyu, prompting the judge to give a sigh.

“In that case, defendant Kim Sunggyu, how do you plead to the felony charge of bribery?” He asked. The most crucial word now followed.

“Guilty.”

“In that case, I find that defendant Kim Sunggyu’s guilty plea was made freely, voluntarily, and intelligently. I also find that there is a factual basis for the plea,” said the judge with an audible exhale. “Counsel, do you wish for sentencing now?”

“No, Your Honor,” replied Prosecutor Yang. “We wish for the defendant to remain free for a few days. Because he’s going to go straight into custody, he would like a few more days to put his affairs in order, and the prosecutor-general is inclined to give him that.”

“I understand,” said Judge Byeon. “Defendant Kim Sunggyu, I do hereby find you guilty of the offense of bribery. You are ordered to return in two weeks for your sentencing. Court is adjourned.”

 

**\---**

 

“How does it feel to be single again?”

Woohyun looked up to see Dongwoo standing in front of him, with two stems of champagne in his hands. He carefully took one from the groom with a smile.

“Cautious optimism,” replied Woohyun with a sip. “I’m not in a rush. I can afford to sit down and wait and consider my options for the next months or years.”

“A lesson learned?” Dongwoo took a seat next to him to watch the dance floor. The party was quieting down, having just entered the early hours of the morning, but there were still guests enjoying themselves. “What’s next for you?”

“Work,” Woohyun answered flatly. “You know SLG represents Reinergen, right? Their tort case isn’t going away for years. We’ll be mired in litigation for a decade, at least. That’s enough billable hours to last an associate’s lifetime. How goes your plan for the cafe?”

Dongwoo gave a nod. “Heejung and I are working on securing another loan. The wedding set us back more than we expected, but now that she and I are married, we’ll have access to more credit. I hope the cafe opens up within two months. You’ll be my first guest, right?

“I’ll be there on the opening day,” Woohyun said with a smile. “My mouth waters just thinking about that menu that you and your wife developed.”

“Hey! What’s that?” Dongwoo said, getting up and poking Woohyun in the side. “Was that a smile? A real, happy smile?”

Woohyun laughed, shying away from Dongwoo. “What harassment is this? Can’t I laugh by myself?”

“Yes, you can!” Dongwoo returned to his seat, and the two of them were quiet again as they watched the guests. Heejung, the bride, had just finished dancing and a space opened up on the dance floor.

“You know,” began Woohyun, grinning. “I haven’t danced in a long, long time. How do you think I’d look if I tried?”

“Better than those three,” Dongwoo said with a smirk, pointing a finger at the corner. Woohyun laughed at the sight of a flustered Howon, who had both Myungsoo and Sungjong drunkenly clinging to him. There were other guests dancing far better, though, and some of whom were handsome enough to get Woohyun’s attention.

“Dance with me then,” Woohyun said, putting aside his glass. “Let’s see if you still have the moves after all these years.”

“Is that a challenge, Nam Woohyun? You know I can’t I let you get away with that,” Dongwoo answered, instantly ready. “Let’s move. I’ve seen you eyeing some of the men on the dance floor. Let’s see if you catch their eye.”

“Don’t say it like that! The ink on the divorce papers is barely dry!” he said in a mock-protest. At the same time, he was of one mind with Dongwoo.

Woohyun looked around the banquet hall, seeing if there was still an empty spot. His eyes glanced towards the tables around the dance floor. As he did so, his eyes flickered towards Sungyeol and Sunggyu in hushed conversation at a table for two people. He raised an eyebrow, just briefly, but dismissed his thoughts. _It’s no matter now. Sungyeol’s not my husband anymore, and I don't know what Sunggyu is to me. There are more important things to think about._

Dongwoo stood up first, turning to look at Woohyun.

“Ready?”

He nodded.

“I’m ready.”

 

**\---**

 

**_END OF PART TWO_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on Twitter [here](https://www.twitter.com/west_of_autumn)! The story is almost over, so if there's anything else you still want in the story, please let me know. I've greatly appreciated all of the feedback for the story, but I still look forward to anything you have to say!


	20. Closing arguments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter! The next chapter is actually an appendix, with a timeline and some suggested reading. The story ends here, and I hope you enjoy it. It was hard for me to finish the story but I persevered and wrote something that I was satisfied with. You can reach me on Twitter @west_of_autumn if you have any additional feedback or comments.

The courtroom was said to be a battlefield for the truth, as both sides struggled to uncover the truth through the adversarial system. Woohyun, however, felt that opposing counsel was usually more interested in winning at any cost. Today was no exception.

“At what time did you see the defendant enter the bank?” The prosecutor tried to ask, only for Woohyun to respond.

“Objection,” Woohyun said. “Misstates the facts. The witness has _not_ testified that he saw the defendant enter the bank, only that he saw a masked gunman who entered the bank.”

The prosecutor turned to the judge with a look of annoyance. “Your Honor, the witness has already testified, based on his observation of the defendant’s gait and posture, that the defendant is the same man who entered the bank.”

The judge’s eyes flickered between Woohyun and the prosecutor before she shook her head. “Whether the witness saw the defendant is a question for the jury to decide. The objection is sustained.”

“And I request that the question be stricken from the record and the jury asked to disregard it,” Woohyun continued.

“So noted. The prosecutor’s question shall not be used as evidence that the defendant entered the bank. Prosecutor Park, you may continue,” said the judge.

Prosecutor Park Soonhye turned and gave Woohyun an indifferent shrug.

 _If she was bad when she was in the Vice Division, she’s even worse now that she’s been promoted to the Major Case Division_ , Woohyun thought with a shook of his head.

“At what time did you see the masked gunman enter the bank?”

“It was about three in the afternoon,” said the witness, a customer in the bank at the time of the robbery.

“Where were you in the bank at the time?”

“I was at a side counter, filling out an application to open a new bank account.”

“And where were you in relation to the door?”

“The door was an arm’s length away.”

“And what did you hear?”

“The gunman whispered ‘Move away unless you want to be hurt’.” The witness answered.

“Objection,” said Woohyun, rising to stand again. “The response is hearsay.”

“It’s an excited utterance,” said the prosecutor. “The masked gunman, whoever he was, made the statement while under the rush of an armed bank robbery.”

Woohyun was aghast. “The gunman whispered the statement, and besides, the Rules of Evidence state that an excited utterance must relate to a startling event or condition. There's no evidence that the gunman was startled.”

“It was a statement against penal interest, then,” said Prosecutor Park.

“It doesn’t have a great tendency to expose the speaker to criminal liability,” responded Woohyun.

“I agree with Prosecutor Park,” the judge said while looking at Woohyun. “In the context of entering a bank, wearing a mask and wielding a gun, the statement tends to be of the type that establishes criminal liability. The objection is overruled.”

“Did he speak clearly?” Prosecutor Park asked as she resumed questioning.

“No, his voice was muffled by the scarf over his face.”

“And what happened next?” Prosecutor Park continued.

“The man pointed a weapon in the air,” said the witness. “He then yelled ‘Everybody, get down on the floor’ and waved his weapon.”

“And what did you do?”

“I dropped everything and got to the floor, lying down with my face to the ground.”

“And could you see everything that was happening?”

“No. My face was still towards the window.”

“Could you hear anything?”

“Yes, I was still able to hear him order commands to the bank staff and the other customers.”

“Your Honor, if I could interrupt,” said Woohyun once the witness was done, without actually giving an objection. “It’s almost 4:30 and the jury is tired. Could this witness be excused for today and recalled tomorrow? I have a pressing engagement at 5:00 that I would prefer not to miss.”

The judge looked at the time and the exhausted faces of the jury. Over the course of a full day, the judge had ordered the jury in and out of the jury box no less than four times.

“I think defense counsel made a sound suggestion. We will finish for today,” said the judge to the jury. “And I order you all to remember my rules. Do not talk about the case with members of the public or with other jurors. The witness will be recalled tomorrow and we will start promptly at 8:00 AM tomorrow morning. Thank you.”

Woohyun had just a few moments to talk to his client before court bailiffs escorted the defendant back into police custody. When the jury also walked out, the judge gestured to the two lawyers to approach the bench.

“I’m still getting used to this,” admitted the judge to the two attorneys.

Woohyun gave a curious look. “But Judge Gil, you’ve done over a hundred jury trials,” he noted.

“My first time as a judge,” Gil Seonhee conceded.

“The other judges aren’t helping you?” Prosecutor Park asked. “Even judges need mentors.”

Judge Gil shook her head. “The experienced judges are all busy. It’s no surprise that we are short-staffed, given our vacancies. It’s been two years since the bribery ring and there are still judges being arrested.”

Kim Hyemin and her co-conspirators had been tried, convicted, and sentenced almost two years ago, but the bribery ring continued to make waves inside the legal community.

“I think you’re doing very well, Judge Gil,” said Woohyun. “My client is confident he’s getting a fair trial.”

“I hope he remains confident no matter what the verdict is. Counselors, you are dismissed,” she answered.

While he and Prosecutor Park were walking out, he turned briefly to the opposing counsel. “Do you have a minute, Prosecutor Park? I think we can resolve the case instead of waiting for a jury's verdict. You still don’t have any witnesses who can unequivocally identify my client as the gunman, because he was masked and his voice was muffled. I’m suggesting you drop the kidnapping and robbery charges. In exchange, my client will plead guilty to the gun possession charge. How does three to five years sound?”

“For an armed bank robbery? My supervisor wouldn’t let me do less than eight for such a deal. And I still have two other witnesses,” responded Prosecutor Park. “I just need one to identify your client as the speaker.”

“If you have such a witness,” Woohyun countered. “Anyways, think about my offer. My client’s willing to take his chances with a jury. Are _you_ prepared to live down an acquittal?”

Prosecutor Park gave a smile dripping with insincerity. “It’s wonderful to have you as opposing counsel, Attorney Nam. Don’t you have a pressing engagement? I don’t want to keep you waiting.”

Woohyun gave a smile of his own as he departed and made his way outside. It was early spring, and the sky was airy and clear. There was a car parked in front of the courthouse, with a very familiar face greeting him.

“You’re absurd,” said Woohyun as a greeting. “A convertible? Are you having a midlife crisis, Lee Sungyeol?”

Sungyeol looked like a movie star, with his dapper, well-fitting suit and his designer sunglasses, which was appropriate now that he was famed as a defense lawyer in his own right. He leaned against the side of an expensive new car, with his arms folded in front of him.

“It could be worse. I would have chosen a red convertible, but Myungsoo said he liked this shade of grey-blue. He said it reminds him of Byeol,” Sungyeol answered.

“Do you drive it at unsafe speeds too?” Woohyun asked, as he entered the front passenger’s seat.

“Only starting today,” said Sungyeol. “I was on probation until yesterday. Today though? I’m a free man.”

“I want to be there on time,” replied Woohyun. “I don’t want to be delayed by a traffic stop, so try driving at safe speeds until we get there.”

“And after we get there?” Sungyeol smiled happily as he entered the car and began starting it up.

Woohyun didn’t answer. The two of them did not need words to understand each other. True to his word, Sungyeol drove below the speed limit as the two of them made their way to Socheon, a half-hour drive west of Changdong. On the way there, Woohyun made small talk with his ex-husband, talking about the weather and politics. But they fell silent as they made their way to their destination.

\---

The Socheon prison was a minimum-security complex of squat, brick buildings surrounded by barbed wire. Sungyeol idled the car outside the entrance as Woohyun made his way to the entrance lobby.

Standing at the door was a tall, thin man. His frame was more thin than before and his cheeks were slightly hollow, but Woohyun recognized him all the same. It was Kim Sunggyu, disbarred from practicing law and disgraced as a convicted felon, but free for the first time in two years after being released early for good behavior.

“You haven’t been eating well,” said Woohyun, not bothering to pose a question as he greeted the man.

“No, I haven’t,” said Sunggyu, approaching him and embracing him in a soft hug.

“We’re going to fix that. Tonight, you’re eating like a king,” said Woohyun, whispering in Sunggyu's ear and smiling to himself. Sunggyu’s embrace felt weak and his frame felt small, but everything else about Sunggyu—his touch, his smell, his smile—felt so familiar.

“I’d rather eat like a lawyer,” Sunggyu said humorlessly, looking Woohyun in the eye, and Woohyun’s smile fell.

“We’ll have so much to talk about later, Sunggyu. Let’s just forget about it for one night,” Woohyun answered. “I’m just glad to have you back.”

Sunggyu approached the car, making brief eye contact with Sungyeol. For just a second, Woohyun worried about how the two men would respond to each other. But then Sungyeol gave a wordless tilt of his head to the rear seats, and Sunggyu nodded.

Sunggyu and Woohyun were in the rear passenger seats as Sungyeol drove, racing through the highway towards the sunset. The wind was in their hair and the world a blur all around them. Woohyun reached over to kiss Sunggyu, throwing his arms around Sunggyu as the other man embraced him in return. Woohyun's eyes were closed but he could feel Sunggyu's hands lace through his hair, while his mouth opened for Sunggyu’s tongue. Everything felt right to him again.

And he didn’t even care where they were going.

**\---**

_**Fin** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everybody who has read, commented, or left kudos on this story! It was fun to write this story and to engage with my audience. I'm thankful for your support and I hope you've enjoyed reading my work.


	21. Obiter dicta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the appendix. If you are trying to find the last chapter to the story, please go to Chapter 20.

**Timeline**

Over the course of writing, there were numerous parts of the setting that I wanted to include in the story. However, most of these facts were extraneous to the plot. I am consequently putting them here so that the reader can better understand the context and setting of the story. This timeline is semi-canonical and does not take precedence over the actual story. If anything in the twenty chapters contradicts the timeline, the chapters will control.

  * 1989:
    * Sunggyu is born.
  * 1990:
    * Dongwoo is born.
  * 1991:
    * Woohyun, Howon, and Sungyeol are born.
  * 1992:
    * Myungsoo is born.
  * 1993:
    * Sungjong is born.
  * 2006:
    * Lee Soonho is elected President as a member of the Democratic Party, defeating Lee Eundo of the Liberal Party.
    * President Kwon Deokhye leaves office with dismal approval ratings, with her centrist policies alienating both conservatives in the Liberal Party and liberals in the Democratic Party, all the while failing to lift the country out of economic recession.
  * 2008:
    * Sunggyu and Dongwoo begin attending Yeonsoong University.
  * 2009:
    * Woohyun, Howon, and Sungyeol begin attending Yeonsoong University.
    * Sunggyu and Woohyun begin dating.
    * The conservative Chief Justice, Park Sangki, retires. His replacement, Park Haehyung, brings the court back to a more centrist position.
  * 2010:
    * Myungsoo and Sungjong begin attending Yeonsoong University.
    * Myungsoo and Sungyeol begin dating.
  * 2011:
    * Sunggyu and Woohyun break up.
    * Myungsoo and Sungyeol break up.
    * Woohyun and Sungyeol begin dating.
    * Yoon Hyunmi is elected President as a member of the Liberal Party, defeating Choi Somin of the Democratic Party.
    * Lee Soonho leaves office with high approval ratings in a period of strong economic growth.
  * 2012:
    * Sunggyu and Dongwoo graduate from Yeonsoong University.
    * Sunggyu begins working for the Handeok Law Firm under the tutelage of Lim Jinsol.
    * Dongwoo begins working for the Segye Geonsol corporation.
  * 2013:
    * Woohyun, Howon, and Sungyeol graduate from Yeonsoong University.
    * The Supreme Court decides the case of _Lee v. Minister of Justice_ , legalizing same-sex marriage. In a 6–3 decision authored by Justice Jeon Chaehyun, the court applied the strict scrutiny level of judicial review and held that the civil code’s requirement of “one husband and one wife” violated the privileges and immunities clause of the Constitution.
    * Woohyun and Sungyeol marry.
    * Woohyun works at a commercial law firm for four months before deciding to become a stay-at-home husband with Sungyeol.
    * Sungyeol begins his career as a prosecutor.
    * Howon begins work as a campaign staffer for conservative politician Oh Jaewoon.
  * 2014:
    * Myungsoo and Sungjong graduate from Yeonsoong University.
    * Myungsoo begins his career working as a law clerk for Na Haekyung, who was then a judge on the Court of Appeals.
    * Sungjong begins his work in the Ministry of Justice’s Civil Division.
  * 2016:
    * Seo Jongkyun is elected President as a member of the Democratic Party, defeating Yang Heesoo of the Liberal Party.
    * Yoon Hyunmi leaves office in the middle of what is considered the country’s “lost decade.”
    * Shin Moonjoo, Lim Jinsol, and Gil Seonhee form the Law Offices of Shin, Lim, and Gil, or SLG for short.
  * 2017:
    * A coalition of conservative parties, led by the Liberal Party, capitalize on dissatisfaction with President Seo in the National Assembly elections. They capture a majority of the seats and regain control of the chamber for the first time since 2005. Political gridlock ensues.
  * 2018:
    * In the wake of their historic defeat, the Democratic Party renames itself the National United Democratic Party.
  * 2019:
    * Howon begins working for the National United Democratic Party.
  * 2021:
    * Voters deliver a resounding message to the conservative camp by rejecting them at the polls, with the National United Democratic Party capturing a majority in the National Assembly.
    * Sungyeol is elected to the National Assembly, representing Changdong City, defeating Min Youngwoo by a narrow margin.
    * Byeon Jongik is elected President as a member of the National United Democratic Party, defeating Lee Hongtaek of the Liberal Party.
    * Seo Jongkyun leaves office under a haze of corruption scandals and general economic malaise.
  * 2022:
    * The Liberal Party absorbs two smaller right-wing parties to form the new National Liberal Party.
  * 2023:
    * Sungyeol and Woohyun celebrate their 10th anniversary of marriage.
    * Chapter 1 begins around August.
  * 2024:
    * Chapter 19 ends around January.
  * 2026:
    * Chapter 20 ends around March.



**\---**

**Suggested reading**

A few people in the comments have mentioned that they do not know much about law. I have included some suggested reading for most of the chapters.

  1. None
  2. None
  3. None
  4. _Wal-Mart v. Dukes_ , 564 U.S. 338 (2011), _AT &T Mobility LLC v. Concepcion_, 563 U.S. 333 (2011)
  5. _Connick v. Thompson_ , 563 U.S. 51 (2011), _Estelle v. Gamble_ , 429 U.S. 97 (1976)
  6. _Burrage v. United States_ , 571 U.S. ___ (2014)
  7. _Missouri v. McNeely_ , 569 U.S. 141 (2013), _Birchfield v. North Dakota_ , 579 U.S. ___ (2016)
  8. _Abbott v. Abbott_ , 560 U.S. 1 (2010)
  9. _Arthur Andersen LLP v. United States_ , 544 U.S. 696 (2005)
  10. None
  11. _Nix v. Williams_ , 467 U.S. 431 (1984)
  12. _Missouri v. Seibert_ , 542 U.S. 600 (2004)
  13. None
  14. _Boyle v. United States_ , 556 U.S. 938 (2009)
  15. None
  16. _Merck & Co. v. Reynolds_, 559 U.S. 633 (2010)
  17. None
  18. _Melendez-Diaz v. Massachusetts_ , 557 U.S. 305 (2009), _Kansas v. Ventris_ , 556 U.S. 586 (2009)
  19. Federal Rules of Civil Procedure 60
  20. Federal Rules of Evidence 803(2), Federal Rules of Evidence 804(b)(3)(a)



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**Further comments**

[This space is reserved for any additional comments that I might include in the future.]


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